Songbird
by kittikat8531
Summary: After leaving the Phantom for Raoul, Christine has been kidnapped and the Vicomte has to ask Erik to help find her. She needs his help, and who is he to abandon her after being there for her for years? E/C, please R&R. Epilogue up. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

AN: Apparently the Phantom bug has bitten me very well, since I can't seem to get it out of my head. This is my newest Phantom story, and unlike the previous two, it's not a one-shot. It's also my first kind take on Raoul, though this is still most definitely an Erik/Christine piece. This is a slightly revised version of the first chapter, based on some criticism I received from reviewers. However, you can find out everything you need from reading the story, so get to it!

Disclaimer: As always, I don't own anything and never will, and that certainly includes the Phantom of the Opera.

88888888

It was with a heavy heart that the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny mechanically followed Madame Giry down the steps into the city's vast catacombs. Hours, it seemed, had been spent in conversation to convince the stern woman that he did not mean her adoptive brother harm in any fashion, that in truth he greatly desired his assistance. Finally, as if she had seen something she needed in his eyes, she consented, but sent her daughter Meg ahead to forewarn Erik of their pending arrival and ordered the Vicomte to don less fine clothing while she did the same, against the waters and dirt of the catacombs. Meg knew the catacombs near as well as their master, so Madame had no worries for her daughter's wellbeing. The Vicomte de Chagny, however, had only passed that way once before and nearly lost his life in one of Erik's ingenious traps in the process. He wondered briefly why Erik had returned to his home after the events there, but assumed he would know the answer if he needed to and that the other man would not have done so if he had not been certain it was safe.

"He will not be pleased, with you or the news you bring," Madame Giry warned coolly. "I had intended to speak of it myself but during my previous visit he barely heard a word I said. I cannot guarantee your safety should you do anything to provoke him."

Raoul nodded tiredly. "The price matters not. Christine's safety is all that does."

She glanced at him appraisingly. "Why have you not already married her, Monsieur? It has been months."

He could only offer a helpless shrug. "Christine said she was not ready yet. After all that occurred here, I thought it best to give her time."

"To forget Erik?" Madame guessed shrewdly. "I can assure you that will never happen. Christine became a daughter to me while she was here, and she would never forget one that was such a large part of her life."

"I don't care," he said in a soft voice. "Really, I don't. If in the end she changes her mind, I only desire her safety and happiness. If he can give that to her… I will not argue."

"Remember you said that," she cautioned. "However, we do not yet know that Erik will even agree to assist you."

The aforementioned man was leaning against a wall near the edge of the small lake as they reached the bottom of the steps, in a simple outfit that reminded Raoul of what he had worn during their last confrontation, except with his typical white mask. Meg could be seen on the opposite side, waiting in the front rooms of Erik's abode. Silently, he assisted Madame Giry into the gondola and offered a mild glare to Raoul, making it clear that though he would return to carry him across as well, he was not welcome.

It seemed only a matter of moments before he had brought the small boat once more to Raoul's feet, but the other man felt no need to offer the same courtesy he had given the ladies. Raoul uncaringly clambered in, choosing not to speak of his reasons for coming until Erik was at least out of arm's reach. When one bore ill tidings to a man known for a vicious temper, one would wait to present the information until safety was more easily assured.

Again, he paid no heed to the younger man, simply leaping casually to the steps that formed his tiny dock after poling across. He immediately proceeded to lash the boat securely as Raoul joined the women. Finally, he stalked forward, eyes fierce.

"To what do I owe this rather dubious pleasure, Monsieur le Vicomte?" he asked in a deceptively cool tone that did nothing to hide the intensity of his glare. His patience had worn down simply keeping silent as long as he had, and he had not forgotten how he loathed the boy before him.

"It's Christine," Raoul answered simply. "She's been kidnapping, and I'd like you to help me find her."

Though Erik stilled for one prolonged moment at the news, it did not last. "I fail to see how this is of any concern to me. Indeed, it seems this should be your job, as her fiancé."

The Vicomte shrugged. "I have neither the time nor the knowledge to even know how to begin. The police are baffled, but I thought you might know something."

He frowned and paced, already caught in the intrigue. "Perhaps… a few possibilities come to mind, but nothing concrete. I have rarely sought word of the world above these past months."

"Do I have your assistance then?"

Erik glanced at him wryly. "Did you ever doubt, when it involved her?"

"Not really. I'm well aware of how much you would do for Christine. Believe me, I am quite clear on your reasons for agreeing. Perhaps we may even form a peace between us? It would please her, I should think."

"Yes, yes, I shall not attempt to kill you again unless you do something to harm her or me," Erik said, waving him off. "I have many things to consider before I begin searching at nightfall. Do you know where she was taken? How long ago?"

"My townhouse," Raoul replied, "as far as I am aware. The police agree it is so but they can find nothing to tell of where to find her. She has been gone for ten days. Do you think she even lives?"

The masked man considered briefly. "I'm quite sure of it. If she had been killed, no doubt the body would already have been discovered. I shall need to examine your home myself, of course."

"Done. And anything else you may require. Erik…" Raoul paused, unsure of if his gesture would be well-received, or even if he was permitted to address him by name. "I'm having your name cleared. You'll be free."

The one brow visible arched noticeably. "A noble act, to be sure. Might I enquire as to the reason?"

"Christine," he replied quietly. "I have no doubt that she will need you once she has been found, and she would not wish you to risk prison by coming to see her. She has been unhappy since leaving the opera. I do not want to give her further reason to grieve. I'm also purchasing the Opera Populaire from Messieurs Firmin and Andre. Regardless of how this ends, it's yours. A gift to begin a proper life."

Erik was visibly startled, but said nothing in argument. Instead, he ordered Meg to escort Raoul to the surface once more, assuring them that he would disarm his traps to allow them safe passage. Madame Giry moved to follow her child, but he took her arm in a gentle hold. "I'd like to speak with you before you go."

She nodded as they watched Meg deftly maneuver the gondola back across the lake and guide the Vicomte up the steps once more. "What is it that you need?"

"First, I'd like you to confirm what the boy said while you were on your way here."

"You were listening?" Rather than allowing him to answer the question, she shook her head and did so herself. "Of course you were; you always do. The Angel sees, the Angel hears. I shall assume you mean in regard to Christine's ultimate decision. Yes, the Vicomte has said that what comes next is for her to decide and her alone. Erik, if she is where I know you already suspect, she will need you desperately."

"I know," he said remotely. "I cannot be sure that I will find her there, yet… I feel that it must be true. I can practically see her in that foul beast's presence. I can sense her fear- no, it is not fear. Terror, it is terror. She is terrified, more than ever before."

Antoinette's hand grasped his shoulder firmly. "You cannot mean to confront the man. Erik, it is madness. He is far and away more dangerous than you ever were."

Erik's burning eyes locked on his sister's. "Do not underestimate my abilities, Madame. Nothing will prevent me from saving Christine. Even if I must give my own life in the attempt, she will not be left to languish in that torment."

Madame Giry sighed and released her grip, knowing the insanity that could grip him if he were to be pushed too far. It had taken far too long for him to resurface after Christine had left. "I do not want to lose either of you, my daughter or my brother. Please, promise you will be careful. Swear it to me, Erik, promise I will not be forced to suffer another loss."

"You know I can guarantee nothing," Erik murmured. "I shall do my utmost to bring both of us back safely, however. If it settles your mind, I shan't confront the man unless given no other option."

She offered him a tired smile. "I suppose that's the best you'll offer, isn't it? Be careful, my dear, and bring poor Christine back to us."

He deftly tugged a hidden cord to bring the boat back to him and allowed his sister to settle herself as he pushed off and delivered her to the other side. "I can escort you up, if you like."

"That's all right, Erik. I am quite capable of returning from here. You should rest before you begin searching."

"I'll try," he promised, trying to soothe her frayed nerves. "Antoinette, you know I'll be fine."

"I suppose," she conceded.

"Will you join me when I go to de Chagny's tonight?"

"Of course, Erik. Shall I bring Meg as well?"

He nodded brusquely. "I would like her to deal with the Vicomte for me. Truce or no, I do not care for the foolish boy, and I fear my temper would interfere with my ability to gain the answers I seek."

"And I?"

"Naturally, you will be assisting with my investigation of the household. Keep an eye out for any hidden entrances that might have been used to take her without discovery. You know what to look for." He frowned before embracing his sister. "She will be well, will she not?" he asked, betraying his own insecurities for the first time, grateful she could not see his face.

"Oh, Erik," Madame Giry sighed, patting his shoulder comfortingly. "If anyone can save her and help her recover, it would be you. She _needs_ you. You have to focus on that."

He drew back reluctantly, allowing his normal unreadable expression fall back over his features. "Till tonight then, Antoinette."

88888888

Madame Giry was quite sure that if it had not been for the limited space of the carriage Raoul had sent for them, Erik would have been pacing madly. In the streets he would have cut a dramatic figure, in his flowing cape and elegant garments, white mask firmly in place. Already the older man had snapped at one of Meg's queries in the manner of one whose control had been frayed far too dangerously.

"Erik, settle down," she ordered in her best instructor's tone.

"I could have _walked_ faster than this," he growled. It probably would have been true if Erik had remained in the catacombs for the majority of the trip. "Time is the enemy."

Meg laid a delicate hand on the man's tense arm. "I'm sure Christine will be fine," she said quietly. "She is a strong woman."

Erik barely restrained another curse, knowing better than either the kind of horror that awaited her if his suspicions proved true.

"Meg, dear," Madame reprimanded mildly. "Do not speak of that which you do not know. If Erik is concerned, there is no doubt reason. Allow him to do as he must."

"I wasn't going to try to stop him, _Maman_," the girl quickly stated. "I'm sure he knows what he is doing."

"No doubt. Now hush," her mother censured. "I imagine he needs some time to think."

Erik sighed, tapping his fingers restlessly against his knee. "I only hope I'm wrong…"

The carriage slowed to a stop as they approached the front drive of the de Chagny residence in Paris. Raoul stood anxiously in the doorway and quickly beckoned them inside.

Erik ensured the door was bolted securely behind them. "Which rooms?"

"Either the parlor, the library, or her room," the Vicomte answered readily enough. "Perhaps the music room, but she has been avoiding it of late. Shall I escort you?"

"No need," Erik said gruffly, gesturing at Madame Giry. De Chagny's peace offer, and coming to him for help, had gone a long way toward soothing the worst of Erik's anger toward the boy, but he still did not wish to suffer his presence. "She has been here; she knows the layout. Meg?"

She nodded and asked Raoul if she could speak to him in the drawing room. He complied without argument, and Erik glanced to Antoinette.

"I know those rooms," she assured him. "Which would you prefer to check first?"

"The music room," he responded instinctively.

"Are you sure? Monsieur le Vicomte said she had been avoiding it." He slanted a gaze in her direction and she ceased arguing. "Of course."

She opened the double doors that led to the massive conservatory. Erik gave the room a precursory glance and dismissed its supplies as substandard at best. The shelves of musical scores, however, gave him pause. One was hanging out slightly, as though it had been released abruptly and unexpectedly by the viewer. He stalked over immediately and wrenched it loose of the other pages to examine it.

It was one of his works, a piece he had stealthily left in the dormitories for Christine to practice shortly before their first face to face encounter. Glancing at the others surrounding it indicated that all in that section were his and, judging by the dust accumulating on many other surfaces of the otherwise elegant room, no other came here. Christine's huge love of music would never have permitted her to treat a score so haphazardly, and certainly not an original. The piece he had picked up was in fact the only existing copy of that melody, for he had committed it to memory while writing it.

Glancing up from his discovery, he noted Madame Giry examining walls, floor and shelves for any hidden doors meticulously. "Anything?" he asked quietly, yet he still succeeded in startling her.

"Erik, you shouldn't be so silent," she scolded. "I had quite forgotten you were in the room."

"So noted," he said drily. "Have you found anything?"

"Not yet. Have you?"

"Perhaps…" He explained the odd circumstances and was pleased when Antoinette agreed with his assessment.

"You think this is it, then? She was here when she was taken?"

"No doubt about it," he said distractedly as he began his own perusal of the room, searching for one of the triggers that would open a trap door or hidden passage. "Do you suppose the boy has the blueprints for this place? They might help me ascertain where the passage would be."

"I shall go ask," she assured him as she hurried from the room.

When neither the walls, the floor, nor the shelves revealed any secrets, the once Phantom turned his attention to the furnishings. Much to his interest, he discovered that while most pieces were freely moved, even including the grand piano, one small table was secured to the floor. He knelt before it to examine it more closely until he found one small carving which could be depressed. When he did so, nothing occurred, and he frowned. He circled the little table and found similar pieces on each leg, yet each was of a slightly different form.

"Perhaps they must be pressed in a certain order…" There were only four carvings, so even guessing there were only twenty-four possible combinations. He inspected the tabletop, hoping for further clues.

It was certainly an unusual item to find in the home of a French nobleman, Erik mused. The design held a faintly Oriental flavor, but the secret itself was of the Persian style- he distinctly recalled having seen similar objects during his time in that country. He racked his brain, searching for the memory that would show him how to determine the correct method. He had considered momentarily simply attempting each possibility, but a few of the style had been rigged dangerously in case one guessed incorrectly too many times.

The top… yes, the order was inscribed somewhere on the surface. He just needed to locate the symbols that matched the ones he had discovered on the legs. It was a simple enough matter for one that had as much practice as he in seeing even the smallest of details from a great distance. A matter of moments later he found the same four symbols.

He carefully depressed each in the given order and was awarded with a satisfying rumble beneath the carpeting. By inspecting the general area more closely, he noticed barely visible lines that marked a seam of some kind, or a fastening. Slitting it open with a dagger, it revealed a newly opened trap door.

'Trap door lover indeed,' Erik thought as he considered it. The drop of ten feet was too far if one had a conscious prisoner with them- it carried a heavy risk of said prisoner injuring them and escaping. He lowered himself down before dropping fully and recognized a scent that confirmed his suspicions. Though he didn't care for it, at least he knew for sure.

Even as he lifted himself back into the room, Madame Giry, Meg, and Raoul all entered. "You found it!" Raoul exclaimed.

Erik nodded and proceeded to brush the dirt from his fine clothing.

"Well?" he prompted impatiently.

The older man rolled his eyes heavenward. "It is much as I suspected. Christine was in this room when her mystery assailant arrived. He dosed her with chloroform and took her through that tunnel."

"Where does it go?"

"I didn't have time to find out before the circus arrived!" Erik snapped. "Give me some peace, boy. You have no skill in this sort of thing."

"Do you know who took her yet?"

Erik muttered several choice curses under his breath. "I have suspicions, nothing more. Now would you be so kind as to allow me to continue my search?!"

Raoul was promptly pushed from the room by a most helpful Meg, who also locked the door. Erik offered her a rare smile of appreciation and twitched his heavy cloak from his shoulders. A moment later, his jacket, vest, and cravat followed. Clad now only in shirt, trousers and boots, he once more dropped through the opening and glanced up to the waiting ladies.

"Don't let it shut," he instructed. "Wedge something in the door if you must."

Madame nodded. "Be careful."

He nodded and vanished from sight. Meg listened for him, but could hear nothing. "How does he move so silently, _Maman_?"

"Many years' practice," Antoinette answered tiredly. "Erik has been hunted for so long that he learned to shield his presence from detection in all ways. This time, it will allow him the stealth that may save Christine, for no one will be aware of his approach."

88888888

AN: This story will be in several parts, and I already have the next two or so ready. However, readers have been being terribly stingy with reviews, so for the first time I'm setting a price. I need at least three reviews before I post the next chapter (or rather, I was before I revised it, no limits now), so please please please do so! A special thanks, however, to AngelicMinx, who was the only one to review my others. Believe me, readers, whatever you want to say about my work, say it! Reviews tell me what people think of my stories, and I take whatever you have to give, be it comments, concerns, questions, constructive criticism, ideas, you name it! Till next time!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Welcome, dear readers, to chapter 2, and may I say thank you for the reviews? I really appreciate that you took the time to let me know what you thought, and the constructive criticism I received actually helped. I'm afraid this story is still not perfect, but I hope you will continue to help by telling me your opinions! I'm also reposting the first chapter, with corrections based on the feedback I got, so if you want to take a look, do so, but it doesn't seriously alter anything except some details. Enough of me talking for now, on to the story.

Disclaimer: Just like before, I don't own the Phantom of the Opera. Surprising, isn't it?

88888888

Erik moved with cat like grace, ignoring the voices echoing behind him. Instead, he listened intently for anything before, any bit of sound that might indicate another in the dark tunnel. After so many years in the depths of the opera house, he had learnt to see without light, and could easily make out the details of his surroundings.

There were no turns nor openings, save the path directly in front of him. He paused at one stone that jutted up slightly from the floor, noting a piece of cloth against it. Lifting it, he took a tentative sniff and recognized Christine's preferred rose scent. The material must have come from the gown she wore when she was taken, for it was a fine fabric and the shade seemed more likely to be worn by a lady.

The tunnel ended not much later, a slender ladder leading to a grate above. Erik eyed the thing cautiously, unsure of its ability to hold his weight. In the end, he decided it best to risk it- his reflexes were quick enough to save him from serious injury should he fall.

He reached the top without mishap and shifted the grate to the side. Looking about, he discovered that the tunnel terminated in a dark alley only a short distance from the fashionable neighborhood de Chagny lived in.

"Interesting," he spoke to himself as he descended once more, replacing the grate behind him. It would be foolish to carry an unconscious lady through the streets for any distance, and a carriage would also be risky, even if driven by a cohort, simply because they risked her waking before they could arrive at the final destination. Christine's face was well-known, and she would have drawn attention to herself. The only remaining possibility is that she was taken somewhere nearby.

So far the manner in which the abduction had occurred matched the style of the very man he had been hoping was not responsible. Perhaps one of the most disgusting criminals in Paris, the man was also a titled noble, which made it difficult for him to be stopped.

Erik had met the man once, when he had expressed an interest in adding him to his "collection". However, Erik had long passed the point in which he was a vulnerable target. His wits, added with the skills he had honed in many weapons and his incredible stealth, scarcely allowed for him to be victimized. He was also one of the most impossible men to find, given most no one had been aware until recently of his home beneath the opera house. It also was heavily guarded- even now that the police knew the place, they had not captured him due to the extravagant number of traps that kept others away, and the entrances were easily concealed.

With the ease of practice, he drew himself into the de Chagny townhouse once more. Madame Giry and Meg, who had been conversing near the piano, immediately looked up. He sighed.

"It is as I feared," he said slowly. "That fiend has _collected_ her."

Madame Giry recovered from the shock first. "What next, Erik? Do you know where to find her?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. However, I shall do my best to find out. A man such as he is always looking for new underlings, as his fits of temper often cost him his previous cohorts. It will not be difficult to determine where to locate him- he would, after all, have to inform the newcomers of his current residence."

"Why would they tell you if they work for him?" Meg asked curiously.

"You misunderstand," Erik corrected as he gathered his outer garments. "He does not meet with those potential employees in any public venue. One of his peculiarities is that those who wish to see him shall come to him. He will make his position known. With luck, he is unaware that I have any ties to Christine. If he knows, we may be in even more trouble."

"Who is it then?" Raoul demanded as he strode into the room, key in hand.

Erik lifted his smoky green eyes to the younger man's face. "The Marquis Jean-Laurent Moreau."

88888888

Raoul sank back into a chair, appearing a curiously delicate shade of green that clashed rather unpleasantly with the colors of his apparel. "The Marquis Moreau? Are you quite certain? I've met the man; he seemed rather harmless."

Erik snorted derisively. "Perhaps he seemed that way, but I shall assure you, he is not. He is a ruthless, vicious man with a distressing tendency toward kidnapping. Christine is hardly the first."

"What does he do to them?"

Erik hesitated, but relented when he saw the anguish on the Vicomte's face. Though he cared nothing for the young fool, Christine did, and she would have already suffered enough once he brought her back. "He has a _collection_, shall we say, of attractive people with good voices. Man or woman, it matters not. I have seen a few of his discards, and they are the lucky ones. Most die during one of his rages. They are deeply harmed, Monsieur, and it is not physical damage that is the worst of it. They are terrified to even speak, for fear of his changing his mind. You see, he forces them to perform whenever he desires, enforced by threats to those they hold dear. True performers, such as Christine, sing with their very souls, and the abuse of that gift can destroy them."

"Does he- does he…?" Raoul couldn't bring himself to finish the question.

"Does he rape them?" Erik finished quietly, understanding the concern. "To my knowledge, no. I have the understanding that he is incapable of such acts, that it was that inability that caused his madness in the first place. It does not stop him from harming them, though. He beats them viciously if they do not sing to his rather exacting standards, or if they offend him in any way. If I had known he was attending the opening nights of both _Hannibal_ and _Il Muto_, I would never have allowed Christine to take the stage. He may even have been at my _Don Juan_."

"Do you know him?"

"We have met."

"How?"

The masked man was deeply compelled to strangle the boy to stop his questions, but Christine's haunted face floated through his mind and he knew he could not. "He expressed an interest, some years ago, to add me to that same collection. However, I have neither loved ones to use against me nor the weakness that allows his victims to be taken in the first place."

"Your face…"

"I suppose I was a curiosity," said Erik brusquely. "He was interested merely because I was different. As I am unwilling to betray my art in such a fashion, I dissuaded him of the idea."

Raoul, well able to imagine how that had been done, let it rest. "What do we do now?"

"_We_ do nothing. You shall remain and move through life as usual. Continue working with the police to find Christine; it will keep Moreau from becoming suspicious. I will use the underground to locate him." He moved to the door, desiring to begin immediately.

"Erik?" Raoul asked in a quiet voice. "How will you free her?"

He stopped, but did not face the others. If he were to be forced to bare his own terrible past, he would prefer not to see pity in their eyes as he did, for even Madame Giry was unaware of that particular time. "If I must, I will trade myself for her. Moreau's interest in me has not waned. However, I pray that will not be my only option. She will need a great deal of help to recover from this, help I don't believe the rest of you can provide. You see, I once lived through a similar horror. While I would infinitely prefer not to repeat it, it taught me how to help those who suffer the same."

88888888

Christine was dozing fitfully when the door to her pitiful cell slammed open and she jumped. One of the endless thugs that Moreau surrounded himself with tossed some garment at her and ordered her to put it on before he returned. Terrified, she immediately did just that, though it scarcely hid any of her body and seemed an inappropriate replica of her costume as Aminta.

Barely seconds after she finished, the same mountainous man appeared and grabbed her upper arm in a bruising grip. She struggled as best she could, but she was far smaller, and very weak from little sleep, little food, and abuse. Her father had never raised a hand against her, and Madame Giry had preferred the punishment of a sharp tongue over a beating. Already she had suffered more pain than she could recall from her entire time in the ballet corps.

He practically threw her into the dining hall and slammed the grand doors behind her. She timidly made her way to the table Moreau sat at, taking great pleasure in his feast while those unfortunate enough to have been added to his so-called collection looked on miserably.

"Ah, my newest songbird!" Moreau called, his voice full of false cheer. A quick glance at the table showed his glass to be filled with whiskey rather than the lighter wine he usually took with dinner. She swallowed, knowing the strong drink made him even more volatile than was typical. "Tonight is your turn, dear girl!"

She nodded but remained silent, wishing desperately to return to her cell, or better yet, to her life. Images of those she loved danced through her exhausted mind. The Marquis gestured imperially and some tall, dark-skinned man stood by her side. It took a moment for her to recognize him- his name was Amir, and he was one of the longest to survive their wretched life. His spirit had failed completely some time before, leaving little more than a puppet behind. There were whispers that if he did not sing well that night he would be tossed out, and many envied him for it.

"I want you to sing that lovely duet from the new opera the Populaire performed," he instructed. "_Don Juan Triumphant_, yes? I believe it was called 'Point of No Return'."

Christine shook her head.

"What was that, dear?" he asked, velvety tones becoming more menacing. "Surely that was simply a slip."

She shook her head a second time.

"Perhaps you need reminded what occurs when you do not obey," he snapped. "There is a ball a matter of mere days from now during which I could encounter your beloved Vicomte. It would be a matter of utmost simplicity to poison the trusting man!"

Her huge brown doe's eyes widened in terror, but the evil man's rampage was not yet done.

"It could be that is not enough, though," he said, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You have no family to threaten, but you do have some people you care for. Your foster mother, for example. It would be easy for a woman of her age to suffer a tragic accident. And your little ballet friend- she will not always be able to dance, will she? Or perhaps I shall take her as well, she sings rather nicely. But no… no, there is still one more with which you are enamored. Your precious Erik."

She froze, barely breathed. Erik had seemed her secret ace, the hidden card that would win the game, but he _knew_. Christine had been hoping desperately that Erik would hear and find her, that he would save her as he always had before.

"Yes, darling girl, I am well aware of young Erik's interest in you- and more importantly, yours in him. It really is unkind of you to be engaged to the de Chagny boy when you don't love him, you know. Unless you want some miserable fate to befall all of them, _sing_."

It was too much though. The poor girl had been too scared, too weak. The world tilted and raced at her at an astounding rate. She fainted, and the other singer barely caught her head would have made vicious contact with the stone floor.

88888888

When she came to, she was once more in the tiny cell Moreau kept her in, and she wanted to weep. What hope was there, if that awful man already knew of Erik? She knew Erik would still search her out, and he would come, and he would be captured too. Though Madame Giry and Erik himself said very little, she knew some of his past and the cruelties he had suffered. Surely he did not deserve further pain. Her Angel of Music would die in this heartless place.

Ten days. Ten miserable, endless days. Had so little time truly passed, not even two weeks? She felt as if she had been trapped for years. Her music was part of her soul, and the disgusting Marquis was stealing it without a care. Already her well-trained voice was slipping as her fatigue dug into her bones, without the nurturing that had sustained her through the years.

Too exhausted to stop herself, Christine _did_ cry, letting the anguish and pain pour out, not caring.

88888888

Erik's heart wrenched as he caught sight of a man stumbling through the streets, looking stricken and terrified. He had helped the other once, in a fit of compassion. He had been one of Moreau's creatures. Perhaps he would be willing to help…

Erik barely caught him when he nearly pitched headfirst into the cobblestones. "Hold on, _mon ami_," he commanded.

The other man's devastated eyes caught his and held. "Erik? Is that you?" The voice was harsh, as though pulled from destroyed vocal cords. His grip tightened unconsciously at the thought of Christine suffering the same.

"Yes, I'm here," he said soothingly. "Are you unwell, Adrian?"

"He's in my head," Adrian answered. "If I try to sleep, he's always there, with his demands and cruelty."

Though Erik's own reputation was less than flattering, he had always cared for those that Moreau had rejected, and others like him. He couldn't do anything else after having been trapped similarly, though he had survived with less injury. While most of Paris feared the notorious Opera Ghost, a select few knew to draw his attention to the newest released victim. Erik considered it one of his few redeeming actions.

"I know, my friend. He's not in your life now, though. You've left that place. He rules you no longer. I have a favor to ask of you, however."

"Anything," Adrian swore as Erik passed him a piece of fruit from a nearby vendor, flipping the merchant a coin. "You have done much for that man's castoffs. Perhaps you are yourself less than an angel, but your kindness to me is beyond repayment."

"You will not like it," he warned. "I seek Moreau. I would have you tell me where to find him."

Adrian stilled. "Why?"

"He took someone I know," Erik replied, looking away.

"Ah, the inestimable Miss Daaé," the other mused, recalling Erik's great love for the young soprano. He had spoken of her in an attempt to convince Adrian to rebuild his life, though Erik himself had still been struggling against the insanity that had gripped him. "In truth, I'm surprised this didn't happen sooner." The food seemed to have revived him, for his eyes had cleared and some of the fright had passed.

"I would much prefer it had never occurred."

"Of course," he nodded. "You know that Moreau changes location regularly."

"You are the most recent to have left, and I do not believe he knows of my involvement with you or any of the others. I had hoped he would still remain. Will you help?"

"Erik, without your care I still would not be speaking; I might have languished in silent madness forever. I owe you far more than assisting you in such a small manner."

"Not a small manner," the masked man corrected. "Already too much time has passed. I would prefer she not suffer any longer, and if you can help me find her quickly it shall be I that will owe you."

Adrian rose, brushing his hands against his trousers. "I shall lead you to the place I last knew him to reside in, but I'm afraid that's all I can do. I will not enter."

"I would not ask you to."

88888888

As Erik had suspected, Moreau's current hole was in the same neighborhood as the de Chagny townhouse, and a quick examination had proven him to still be in residence. He had sent Adrian on his way, though the man had bravely come so close while trembling fit to loosen his teeth.

He was far too distinctive in appearance to risk entering blithely, even at night and in his dark clothing. The opera house had been simple, as its inhabitants had in general been a peaceful lot, and the arrangement of the building had provided him with a great deal of freedom. Instead, Erik slipped once more into the city's catacombs to search for a way in through them. Moreau was a deranged criminal, so such a bolt-hole seemed a reasonable inclusion for his home.

To Erik's great pleasure, his guess proved accurate as he discovered a trapdoor in the ceiling of the tunnels. It was locked, but he had learned many skills over the years and it only took a few seconds to undo it. He lifted the door only slightly, just enough to peer up into the room. Letting all his senses search, he discovered no other presence and quickly jumped in, recovering the door silently but leaving it unblocked to hasten his escape with Christine.

He stepped into the shadows and practically vanished, so unnoticeable he was. Years in the opera house had given him ample opportunity to perfect the skill. Phantom indeed.

Silently, he moved through the rooms of the spacious home in a methodical search, though he suspected he already knew Christine's location. She would doubtless be in the upper levels to prevent an escape attempt, or a rescue.

He lingered in the hall a few moments outside the dining room where Moreau currently sat, tormenting his current performers. Erik recognized a few as some of the more promising singers from the Opera Populaire. A servant passed him with a jug of wine, obviously intended for the master of the house. While the young man paused to open the door more widely, Erik deftly poured a strong sleeping draft into the beverage. One of his own concoctions, it was tasteless, unscented, and nigh on undetectable save by the most trained experts.

It was not much longer until Moreau's cultured tones died down. A brief glance told Erik that most in the room had fallen asleep, save the singers, and they hovered on the edge of exhaustion. He breathed a sigh of relief that his risky plan had succeeded so easily, for if any had remained aware the entire mission would have been severely jeopardized. Uncoiling several of the Punjabs he had carried with him, he bound the uncouth men together and ordered the performers to run while they remained unconscious. He stopped one, a young lady from the Populaire, before she could flee as well.

"Are there other prisoners?" he demanded.

She had only been a captive two days, so her mind was much clearer, and she recognized the infamous Opera Ghost. She nodded quickly, fearing his legendary wrath. "_Oui_, Monsieur. The third floor. Christine Daaé is still there, perhaps one or two others. The rest of us were all here tonight, but she refused to perform earlier and collapsed."

"Lead me to them," Erik ordered brusquely.

She glanced at him warily before gesturing to the door. "Of course, Monsieur. Thank you, for freeing us."

"Take care not to be captured again. I have not the time to care for so many. Leave Paris, if you must, or seek Madame Giry. She will assist you as much as she may." He seized the girl's wrist as she turned. "Christine, how is she?"

"I don't know, Monsieur. She did not look well when I saw her earlier, even before she fainted. Tell me, are you the mysterious man I heard mention of, that helps the demon's victims?"

He nodded. "Many times before, yes. Do hurry, for I fear the draft will not last forever and I would prefer to be long gone when they awaken."

She led unerringly up the steps and to the cells that had once been bedchambers. He easily picked the locks on the rooms that contained the others and sent them off with the girl- her name was Clarisse, he recalled.

"Take them and be gone from this place. Tell the others what I have told you. Christine shall come with me."

"_Oui_, Monsieur. Thank you, again."

"Yes, yes. There will be a man named Adrian in the _Petit Cheval_ Inn. Inform him Erik sent you, and he and the others will assist you in hiding. Be gone, the lot of you."

Clarisse dashed off, pulling the others with her. Erik turned his attention to the last door and began focusing on the mechanism blocking him from Christine.

The lock was more complex from the others, he noticed. Erik surmised Christine's angelic voice was the greatest prize of the collection, or Moreau would not have taken extra care with her. However, Erik had years' experience, so it took barely any time to have it disabled and to fling open the door.

Christine was huddled on the bare floors near a secured window. Judging by her posture and position, it was the sleep of deep exhaustion, but she awoke with a start as he drew near.

"Shh," he soothed. "Have no fear, Angel, for I shall not hurt you."

Her brown eyes first took in the familiar mask then connected with his. She flew to his arms, crying silently against his shoulder.

"All is well, Christine. I am here. We can leave this place."

She drew back and he recognized the renewed terror in her expression.

"No, he is not dead. I have simply rendered he and his men unconscious. Come, we haven't much time. Your Vicomte is worried for you."

She nodded slowly and accepted his hand as he drew her from the pitiful cell. Rather than returning through the catacombs, he led her to the front door and into the streets. She glanced around and then looked at him in confusion.

It only took a moment to understand her concern. "It's all right," he reassured. "De Chagny has had me cleared, Angel. The police will not take me now."

Her cautious smile nearly broke his heart, fragmented as it already was. She had not spoken, had made no sound at all; he feared the few days had already been too much for her spirit. Erik escorted her quickly to the de Chagny townhouse and inside, Madame Giry slamming the door behind them.

"You found her!" she exclaimed, embracing her adopted daughter. "Thank the heavens. You are unhurt?"

Christine shook her head. Her foster mother's lips tightened as she took in the bruising on the girl's face, and she glanced at Erik.

"I was told she refused to sing this evening," he explained. "I expect she suffered for her choice. However, there was no difficulty retrieving her."

"However did you manage it?" Antoinette asked as she nudged the silent girl into a chair and sent Meg for a medicine box.

"A sleeping draft in the wine," Erik said with a shrug. "The entire lot went down, for they did not expect an intruder, so I freed all his prisoners. One I recognized from the opera house led me to Christine."

Meg returned quickly and led them to a bedchamber. Erik turned to allow them privacy, but Christine reached for him, a desperate plea in her eyes. He sighed.

"Behind the screen," he told her firmly. "Let Antoinette clean you up."

She allowed her teacher to retreat to a chair in one corner before her ballet instructor nudged her behind the privacy screen and assisted her out of the outfit. Meg was sent off a second time to find Christine something more comfortable to wear. Raoul had not yet put in an appearance.

Meg brought a white nightgown and dressing gown that greatly reminded Erik of the apparel she had donned before she had joined him in his world for the first time, that were perhaps the very same. He forced the thoughts away, focusing on the fact that she needed his aid. Christine emerged moments later, belting the robe around her thin waist.

There was a bruise forming high on her hollowed left cheekbone and at the temple, he realized, and she held her right arm a tad awkwardly. He extended a hand to her and she took it, allowing him to push back her sleeve and examine the injury. He noted it to be a healing cut, the sort one acquired after being struck with a whip. He wouldn't be surprised if there were others. Her physical injuries were not the most worrisome, however. It was her continued silence that proved most unsettling.

Madame Giry took over, daubing at the wound with a clean clothe doused in alcohol. Christine winced, but still uttered no sound. Considering possible actions, Erik absently rose and permitted Raoul entry into the room upon his knock. He returned to his seat as the Vicomte fussed over her, but she drew away, turning in Erik's direction instinctively. Hurt passed through the de Chagny boy's eyes, but he did nothing to stop her as she reached for him.

Erik enfolded her in an embrace as she reached him, understanding her thoughts. At the moment, he was the one person that had come for her, so she would only trust him for the time being, though she had no difficulty with the other women.

"Christine will be coming with me," he said firmly but quietly. "She needs time to recover, and a safe place. Moreau will look for her here, but he has attempted to gain access to my home many times and has consistently failed. You must act as though you are still searching for her. Be desperate, worried, whatever it takes to convince others. Madame Giry will bring you to her on occasion, when I deem it safe. Each of you must go about as usual."

"Can I come with you to help?" Meg asked as Raoul opened his mouth to protest but stopped himself.

Erik shook his head. "Should you abruptly vanish from the public eye, it will tell him that we know where she is. He could attempt to follow. I am the only one that would not be noted as missing. Each of you _will_ heed me on this. If you do not, you only place her at more risk. We shall go quickly, so I would ask that some of Christine's belongings be packed for her."

Meg and her mother dashed off to follow his commands, and Erik shifted his attention to the boy. "Where is the kitchen? She needs to eat."

Raoul nodded woodenly and led the way, Christine still curled protectively under Erik's arm. Erik gestured to a chair, which she took obediently, as he gathered a few light foods and placed them before her while Raoul leaned against a nearby wall. She ate little before pushing it away, but he immediately pushed it back. She frowned at him.

"None of that," he ordered, kind but stern. "I know you have not eaten as much these past days, but that is not enough for a girl that has likely eaten nothing today."

She reluctantly nodded and ate a few grapes as Madame Giry appeared with a small bag in hand.

"This should be all you need," Antoinette informed Erik. "If there is anything else, however, let me know."

"Thank you."

Raoul held Erik back as Madame Giry wrapped her foster daughter in a warm dark cloak. "Will she be all right?"

Erik's gaze was perfectly level. "I can make no guarantees, Monsieur le Vicomte, except to say that I shall do the best I can. She meant no offense when she shied away from you." He could not understand what prompted him to offer comfort to the younger man, could only assume that Christine's presence had eased the lingering pain and resentment. A moment later he forced such thoughts away and returned his attention to the conversation.

"I know that," Raoul sighed, tunneling his fingers through his hair, "but…"

"It hurts nonetheless, yes. She will have a difficult time around men for the time being, I expect, after Moreau and his mercenaries abused her. She allows my presence because I was the one that rescued her, and for the many years I spent with her."

"I suppose you're right. Take care of her."

"I always have."

88888888

AN: That wraps up the second part, I should think. Thank you to IamthePhantomoftheOpera, Mira-Jade, LonesomeGurlAngelofDeath, and braindamage-1990 for the reviews I've received so far. I found them very helpful and appreciate that you took the time to do so. I'm not going to set a limit review to get the next chapter this time, so once I think it's ready I'll post it. However, that doesn't lessen my desire for reviews, so please continue to give them! If you want me to respond, for answers to questions or anything of the sort, just say so and I will as soon as I receive them. Till next time!


	3. Chapter 3

AN: So, this is the newest chapter. In all honesty, I finished writing this a few days ago, but I wanted to go over it before I posted in hopes of catching any mistakes. Some minor alterations have been made here and there, but on the whole it's as I wrote it originally. I hope everyone likes it!

Disclaimer: I still don't own Phantom of the Opera. Duh.

88888888

Though Erik would have preferred to spare Christine by taking a carriage or horse, day was quickly approaching and they risked Moreau giving chase. He led her into the tunnels and guided her quietly to his home on the lake. Once they arrived, he immediately sent her to bed and proceeded to arm every trap that surrounded the area.

He had barely completed the task when he heard her scream. Erik sprinted for her room, throwing aside the curtain that enclosed the swan bed he had crafted especially for her.

She writhed in the grasp of nightmares, tortured sobs coming from her mouth. He placed a hand against her forehead, but there was no fever.

"Christine," he murmured. "Christine, wake up. It's just a nightmare, Angel, a dream. You're safe. There's no one here but I."

Her eyes slowly opened, and a second later she had flung her arms around him and was crying into his shoulder as she had when he had first found her.

"Oh, Christine. You're safe, my angel. He's not here; he can't hurt you."

He continued whispering the comforts as she calmed, though she continued to lean against him heavily. She glanced at him, clearly wishing to say something but incapable of forcing the words. He nodded and carefully loosened her grip on him.

"I'll be back in just a moment."

He stepped back in a second later with a pad of paper, of a size used in sketching, and a piece of charcoal he often used with it. She immediately accepted them and quickly wrote a few words at the top of the large page.

_Sing for me._

She noted his hesitation and scratched something else out.

_Please?_

"Very well," he relented. "I must admit I haven't sang recently, though. Did you have something in mind."

She shook her head and began writing again.

_Why haven't you?_

He offered her a sad smile. "You stole my song. I have neither composed nor sang, though I do still play."

She looked sad, but took up the charcoal a fourth time.

_I'm sorry._

"Don't apologize," he commanded. "You were not at fault."

She clearly disagreed, but let it go for the time being. Neither wished to discuss such issues on paper, which lacked the ability to truly express deep emotion.

_You do not have to sing if you do not wish to._

"It's quite all right," Erik reassured her. "Would you like me to play as well? I have several instruments on hand."

_Violin?_

He chuckled, knowing she was thinking of her father. "Yes, I have a violin. Would you like me to play here, or in the other room?"

She pointed at the bed.

"Here it is. Allow me a moment to fetch the violin."

Christine reluctantly nodded and did her best to remain patient for the brief moments it took to collect the small instrument. He quickly tuned the strings with a practiced hand and settled it in place under his chin, bow in hand. He began a series of Mozart's violin sonatas before shifting to a piece with lyrics. "The Angel of Music", a song Gustave Daaé had sung to his young daughter countless times. Though she tried, she couldn't resist the onslaught of coming tears.

Erik immediately set the violin to the side and grasped her hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

She shook her head.

_It's just… I miss my father. And with everything that's happened…_

"It's too much at once," he surmised. "Would you prefer I play something of mine? I can play until you fall asleep."

She nodded eagerly, lying back after setting the pad and charcoal on the nearby table.

He played lullabies, quietly soothing songs he had written for Christine when she had still been a small child and so unhappy after losing her father and leaving her old life behind. The familiar tunes and the soft words swirled around her, wrapping her in the comforting embrace he had provided countless times before. She fell asleep with the faintest of smiles on her face.

88888888

She awakened to nightmares several times more just that night, each time crying out until Erik appeared and soothed the dreams away. By the time morning came, she looked more exhausted than she had the previous night. Erik slept not at all, too caught up in his own thoughts and Christine's needs. When she finally rose, he brought her a light meal before vanishing to a back room with a parting order to not wander.

She complied, however reluctantly. Her curiosity tugged at her, but her fear held her more strongly. Instead, she slowly wound through the rooms which Erik had stated were available for her use and chose a book from the many shelves. She had glanced over the music, but the damage was still too raw inside her. She had quickly set it aside.

The book she had selected seemed to be one Erik had written himself, a compilation of fantastic stories improved for a more mature audience rather than the children that typically favored such tales. She enjoyed it greatly, but her own exhaustion had not waned. She soon slipped into a light slumber.

At first, she did not dream, but as she relaxed and sank into a deeper rest, images began to form. At first, they were vague and ill-defined. However, they cleared quickly, taking form and showing things that Christine had hoped not to see again. First the scene after _Don Juan Triumphant_. She watched as a spectator at her past self's shoulder, trying endlessly to stop what occurred, to speak with Erik rather than to make accusations or to judge unfairly. As she sailed off with Raoul, the scene shifted. She stood again in Moreau's dining hall, faced with the same order: to sing the duet Erik had written just for them, or to risk everyone she cared for.

In this nightmare, she suffered indecision she had not in life. Her fear was practically palpable around her. So many were at risk; could she ignore that simply because she did not want to sing a particular piece? She began to cry, tears running soundlessly down her cheeks and across her lips as she sank to the ground, wrapping her arms round her knees.

Erik, who had slept quietly and felt much rejuvenated, stepped in and paused at the expression of agony on her face. The first words she had uttered since he had found her came as she continued to cry.

"Don't make me sing that," she pleaded her invisible tormentor. "Most anything else, but not that. There is too much in that."

In what, he wondered as he knelt by her chair, placing his hand over hers. What would Moreau have asked for to provoke such a response? It seemed fair to assume it would involve the young Vicomte, or perhaps himself.

"No going back now… I can't go back. I can't, but I can't give you that song either. It's ours. Ours, no one else's."

It was easy enough to understand now, he thought as he shook her shoulder. "Point of No Return" had been raved about in the press even as audiences wondered if they would ever be able to see the complete show. She had not yet awakened, but she turned in her seat and clasped one of his hands in both of hers, sobbing. He stroked her hair gently, murmuring the perhaps useless platitudes that all would be well.

This latest stream of tears dried up as she finally opened her eyes. She was trembling slightly, he realized.

"Nightmares again?" he asked softly. She nodded. "Moreau, or something else?"

She hesitated and he offered her the paper she had left nearby.

_Moreau and… something else._

"What?"

She shook her head. _Do you have anything that can help me sleep? _

He considered, taking a mental inventory of the concoctions he had developed over the years. "Dreamlessly, I assume?" She nodded. "I believe I have something of the sort. It won't do for naps, however, nor frequently."

88888888

Christine began to improve after that; the nightmares began to fall off though he only allowed her to take the drug he had mentioned twice. She spoke on a few occasions, briefly, no more than a sentence or two at a time. She would call for him, though, if she needed him and he was in another room. The progress heartened them both, enough for Erik to allow a brief visit in the dead of night from the Vicomte, Meg, and Madame Giry.

Christine had still been reserved around Raoul, but she didn't flinch away from him. She did, however, remain close to Erik for the duration of the visit. She had talked with Madame Giry and Meg for a few moments, and Raoul received the same. Erik, however, wise to the signs, recognized how quickly Christine became weary and sent them on their way before turning and ordering her to bed.

Still she had not sang, but speaking was a good step forward. He imagined with time, and exposure to music, she would do so again. He heard her hum on occasion, for a moment or two. A few days after her friends' visit, she stopped using the paper for anything simple, though he often spotted her writing away for hours on end. He didn't question what it was, preferring that she come to him.

He would not have admitted it had anyone asked, but having her near was not simply allowing her to improve. Though Erik had conquered his madness in the months after she left, nothing had eased the endless pain that welled up inside him whenever a thought of her crossed his mind. She was nearby now, and simply knowing she did not hate him for the foolish things he had done in the depths of his insanity made all the difference. He would not lie and pretend he no longer loved her, but he found himself more able to accept her choices and to allow himself to heal. Her friendship would be enough to sustain him.

Another couple days and she spoke freely regarding anything except her time as a prisoner, and their painful past. They discussed a great many things at length, such as Erik's being given the opera house by Raoul. She had quietly admitted that she would like to sing on stage again, once she had been given enough time to recover from her ordeal. Erik spoke once of taking Christine to the police, to give evidence against Moreau, but she balked at the plan and he did not press. It was easy to understand that she was not ready to speak of it.

Though he had grown to anticipate her in many ways, Erik was still rather shocked at the topic of conversation she broached over dinner, three weeks since he had rescued her from Moreau's.

"Does your mask bother you?"

"My mask?" he repeated, startled. He pondered the question momentarily before answering. "I don't really think about it."

"It can't be comfortable, though," said Christine. "Don't you grow weary of it?"

"I suppose," he replied guardedly. "I don't wear it while I'm alone, but if I've had it on for an unusual length of time it becomes an irritant against my skin."

"You don't need to wear it around me, you know."

He wondered a bit wildly why it seemed that every particle of air had left the room. She seemed perfectly unbothered, but Erik was finding it difficult to draw a breath.

"I'm afraid I'm not accustomed to going without in others' presence," he finally stated.

"I've seen your face before, though. Surely you can't think that it upsets me still?"

He was certainly not accustomed to such a response to the face he considered a curse. "I haven't given the idea much thought, though I must say you made your opinion clear before."

She winced, becoming uncomfortable for the first time during the conversation. "I should never have said such horrid things to you. They weren't true, Erik, and I never meant it."

"Words hold power," he said quietly, "and yours more than most. I'm afraid I cannot forget so easily."

She began twisting the napkin in her lap, frowning. "I can't even begin to apologize for all the harm I've done you, with all you've ever done to help me. Erik, I can never repay you for your endless kindness, and I should have trusted you."

He sighed, setting aside his meal. "There were many wrongs done, Christine, on both our parts. Perhaps it would be best to set the past aside and focus on the present, the future."

"Perhaps." She glanced up at him, silently accepting his desire to move away from the difficult subject. "You've been wearing your mask all day. Isn't that too long?"

While that was not what he had hoped to move to, it was at least not referring to the damage he had done. "I have worn it longer."

She gathered the dishes from their dinner and carefully washed them, placing them once more on their shelves. It had become habit in the weeks, with Erik keeping Christine company as she tidied up, a task she had insisted upon taking. He drew several sheets of paper from a drawer nearby and began sketching as she followed the evening routine. She finished more quickly than was typical and moved to peer over his shoulder.

Her face stared back at her from the paper, in an elegant drawing that once would have deeply disturbed her. She was clothed in the same white lace dressing gown she had worn during her first journey to the house on the lake, but she was sitting under the sun in a meadow filled with flowers, and long feathered wings adorned her back. She rather thought it a far cry from the faded blue gown she currently wore, and briefly wondered why he was dressed in his fine clothing for a normal evening. Perhaps he had been planning on running some errands in the city.

"It's lovely," she murmured. "How long have you been working on this?"

"A few days," he answered easily. "I prefer drawing while I can see you, as I fear my memory does not do you justice. I work on your surroundings if you're not available. Once I am satisfied with the drawing, I will paint it."

"What are the other pages?"

He passed them to her as he continued to perfect the tiny details of her appearance- the exact arch of her brow, the texture of her hair. She watched for a moment before shifting her attention to the drawings in her hand.

All featured her, she realized, in various poses. One was clearly of herself and Erik during the "Point of No Return"- he wore Don Juan's costume, she was in Aminta's. They were passionately embracing, exactly as they had on stage during the Don's solo. The second nearly broke her heart. It was she and Erik again, sharing a kiss. It would have been impossible to not know the circumstances surrounding the image, a matter of moments before she had left him behind. At the edges, Raoul was barely visible. Even as Christine mourned the deep sadness that emanated from the page, she was astounded by how accurately done it was, giving no false impressions.

The others were less shocking, simple sketches of Christine as a child- when she first went _en pointe_, her first part in an opera as a lowly chorus girl, other snippets of time. Her life had been captured on paper.

"These are wonderful."

"Thank you."

She glanced at him. "Erik, I think I should tell you something… I should have told you weeks ago…"

He was alert in an instant. "What is it?"

"Moreau… He knew about you, and our connection. When I refused to sing 'Point of No Return' that night, he began making threats. First about Raoul, then Meg and Madame Giry. I was already frightened, perhaps enough to obey against my better judgment, but he couldn't leave it there. He threatened you too. He knew, I think, that you would come looking for me."

Erik leaned back, considering. "I suspected he knew, though I had hoped otherwise. However, I'm not sure if he truly expected me to rescue you, given that he was woefully easy to incapacitate. However, it is a point. Perhaps we should move elsewhere."

"He knows where we are?!"

"I imagine so," he said, suddenly weary. "You see, Angel, Moreau once desired to add me to his collection as well. Unlike most targets, though, I have considerable protection surrounding my home, and he was never able to reach me. No doubt he knows we are here and simply cannot gain entrance, though I begin to believe it would be for the best if we shifted to a different location until the Vicomte and I can see him taken care of." He noticed the fear and shock that raced across her features and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Even if he knows we are here, it is near impossible to enter this place without a guide or previous knowledge, and the only ones that know the way are completely loyal to both of us."

"Who?"

"Antoinette, of course, and her daughter. De Chagny has been here, but I doubt he would be able to find his way alone, and regardless he would never betray you. There is a close personal friend, and I have a few acquaintances that know this place as well, but they also suffered at Moreau's hands and would no sooner betray anyone to him than they would take their own lives."

"ERIK?! ERIK! CHRISTINE!"

He leapt to his feet in an instant, recognizing his sister's voice and the fear it contained. "Come with me, now!"

She didn't hesitate in the slightest, and the two raced to the front room as Madame Giry waded in.

"Antoinette!" he called. "Dear Lord, what's wrong?"

She grasped his arms as she stepped from the waters. "You and Christine need to leave. Moreau and his men have been prodding at your outer defenses, and I fear it's only a matter of time before he manages to gain entry."

"My traps…"

"They count for nothing against madness, Erik. Moreau is not sparing his men; he has already lost many. I have alerted the police, but there is no proof against Moreau and I fear that by the time there is, he will have killed you both."

Christine let out a stifled sound that might have been a whimper and Erik was at her side in an instant, enfolding her in a comforting embrace. "We will be out as quickly as possible. You should leave before he arrives."

"I won't abandon you! Erik, you're my brother, and Christine is my second child. I could not possibly flee with you in such danger. Allow me to help."

He hesitated, but agreed. "Gather Christine's things. I'll see to everything else. Christine, you are to stay with me, as closely as possible. How long do we have?"

Madame shrugged helplessly. "A few hours at the very most. I would not waste a moment."

"We shall not. Please, Antoinette, Christine's things?"

The elder woman dashed to the younger's room, and Erik shifted his attentions to the few things he would need. His newest music and art was all that came to mind, for he already knew where to go and it was well supplied with items for his use. After looping several Punjab lassos by his side, buckling on his sword and tucking a few small pistols into hidden holsters, he opened a slender portfolio and began placing them inside quickly, paying little mind to order. Christine hovered near his elbow, nearly shaking with fear. He took notice of her movement from the corner of his eye and turned to face her.

"Oh, Angel, never fear," he murmured soothingly. "I will not let him harm you again, regardless of the price."

"Is that so?"

A lasso seemed to leap to Erik's hand as he spun, but he did not use it. Christine turned too, realizing why.

Several dozen men had appeared, surrounding them, and Moreau stood at the center. Should Erik have attempted to go on the offensive, there were far too many for even the Opera Ghost's wiles. Another man exited Christine's room, dragging Madame Giry with him. Both paled as they watched how violently the older lady was treated.

"Care to give up?" Moreau drawled. "You're outclassed, outnumbered, completely surrounded."

"I wonder," Erik seethed, "if your men would actually hold together if I killed you."

"My good man, surely you can see that would accomplish nothing! I have your darling sister, you might recall." A second mercenary leapt from behind and grabbed Christine, holding a dagger at her throat. "Your beloved Christine is at my mercy as well. If you so much as lay a finger on me, they will both be killed. A real pity, for little Miss Daaé is quite the singer. Unless you would care to barter?"

With a herculean effort, Erik lowered the lasso. "It rather depends upon the agreement reached, I should think."

"It's quite simple, and I imagine you already know what it is I have in mind."

Erik nodded brusquely. "You want me in Christine's place."

"Such a clever lad!" the other man exclaimed. "You have gotten it exactly right. You will surrender, and I will release the ladies."

Christine twisted against the brute confining her. "No, Erik, you can't! Don't give him what he wants. It won't stop him!"

He carefully looked away. "You would have to swear that they will be unharmed."

"I would not touch a hair upon their heads."

"You will release them before I accompany you."

"Absolutely not," Moreau stated firmly. "The instant I release them, you would be gone. I am not so much the fool as you seem to think. I will give the order to release your kind rescuer, and you will submit. After that, I shall free your dear lady love."

"Erik, no!" Christine protested again, and Madame Giry echoed her. One of the thugs kicked the older woman, and Christine screamed in fear.

"I said unharmed!" Erik roared, and he drew and cocked a pistol. "Should there be even the tiniest bit more damage to either, nothing shall save you from my wrath! Release Antoinette at once, you wretched beast, and Christine shall be freed as well before we leave this place."

Moreau nodded to the man that held Madame, and he drew back, allowing her room to stand. She found her feet and glanced at Erik as though begging him to reconsider. After a moment of silent communication, her head bowed and she silently swept away, purposefully taking the same route the men had came through. Once she had gone, Erik tossed away the weapon and allowed the men to bind his hands. As soon as that was done, he glared viciously at Moreau.

"Let her go. Now."

The look Moreau gave him was almost… pitying? "I'm afraid not, my dear Erik." An instant later, Erik suffered a heavy blow to the back of his head, and the last thing he saw was Christine suffering a similar fate as his mask fell away, baring his curse to a demon.

88888888

AN: That sums up part three rather well, I should think! Yes, I know it's a cliffhanger. What can I say? It's a way to make sure readers come back. I'd apologize, but I wouldn't mean it. Instead, I'll say that I'm already well into writing the next chapter, and that reviews are good encouragement. My standard comments apply about taking whatever you have to say. I'm still not reinstating the quota but by all means review anyway! Keeping the level up will keep me from having to do so. Till next time!


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Yes, update time! I know I left things at a rather annoying point last time, but it brought whoever's reading this back, didn't it? Things are pretty quiet this chapter, but expect it to get more action packed next time. Go on, read!

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. Naturally.

88888888

Recollections of that moment assaulted Erik as soon as he regained consciousness, and the flare of temper nearly frightened him in its intensity. He fought a silent battle against his raging temper, begging desperately to be spared further madness. After he had finally managed to dull the sharpest edges, he opened his eyes to take in his surroundings.

It was clearly a different place, for the room he was in was done in a different style and building material. His arms were still bound, but a moment's twisting quickly freed him. He levered himself to his feet and strode to the tiny window.

They were no longer inside Paris's boundaries, he realized as he took in the lovely green fields preparing for winter. Moreau was taking fewer chances this time, and he wondered if the ease with which he had freed Christine the first time had, in truth, been a trap to capture them both. He cursed himself the fool and began to take inventory.

A few of his daggers remained in his possession, concealed as they were, and one of the pistols. None of his lassos had been left undiscovered, but given the size of the rope coils, he was hardly surprised. His clothing seemed well enough, though some small damages had been done here and there, and the tiny vials he had concealed within his vest were still in place. Lifting his hands to his face, he recognized the lack of the usual protective covering. Searching the hidden pockets of his jacket, he quickly located a soft black mask similar in style to the one he had worn during _Don Juan Triumphant_ and settled it into place.

Barely a second later, Erik heard the unmistakable sound of someone approaching the door to his prison and braced himself, prepared to attempt to flee. However, the move was aborted when Christine was shoved through the opening and he only just had enough time to save her from hitting the floor. Moreau and two of his goons strode in as Erik scooped her up and held her closer.

"It seems Miss Daaé was uncomfortable in her own cell," the Marquis drawled. "She insisted rather forcefully to be allowed to remain with you. Since she claims she will sing more beautifully if I allow it, I decided to be generous."

"This is what you call generous?" Erik sneered as he set Christine on the meager cot. "We made a bargain, and you broke it out of greed. You would not understand generosity."

"Does it matter?" Moreau asked coldly. "You should have known as much, you poor man. The girl did try to warn you, after all." He moved for the door, but paused and called over his shoulder. "The pair of you will be expected to perform tomorrow night, so I hope you can do so if you want Miss Daaé to remain under your care."

With that parting remark, the door slammed shut once more and was locked as Erik shifted to face Christine once more. She appeared to have fainted. He reached for one of the vials he had tucked into his vest and opened it, revealing smelling salts which he passed under her nose until she stirred.

"Wake up, Angel," he prompted. "Christine, please."

She opened her eyes slowly, as if she was quite sure she did not wish to see what the world held for her. He saw a flash of understanding a moment later and knew she recalled what had happened. "Erik… Are you…?"

"I'm fine," he reassured her. "I've taken worse blows than that before, though I was unconscious for some time."

"Oh, no, Moreau… I can't believe it. I thought I was free of him."

He brushed a loose curl from her face as he knelt beside the cot. "I know. We'll get through this, though. I'm glad you convinced him to allow you to stay with me. Are you willing to listen to your old teacher, after so long?"

She nodded immediately, clasping his hand. "Of course. Anything."

"I have something to teach you, then, but it must wait until night, when all others are quiet. You need to be able to sing, my Angel. Can you do that?"

She bit her lip as she considered. "I can try. What are you teaching me?"

"Do you remember when I first showed myself, and we went to my home?" he asked in a low voice. Once she nodded, he continued. "I plan to teach you to hypnotize with your voice."

"Most of that evening is unclear to me," she admitted slowly. "I remember seeing you, parts of the trip. Then I saw the dress, and that was the only clear thing I can recall."

"I imagine seeing the gown shocked you out of the trance you had been in," he explained. "It's not too clear because of that. If all goes well, you'll be able to do the same."

"How does it work?"

"It works best if you share a connection with the person you're attempting to influence, but there are certain people that are more susceptible than others. Opposite genders, too, have the greatest effect- a man to a woman, a woman to a man. With enough practice, it can even be extended to multiple targets at once. You've already done so without realizing."

"I did?!" If the situation hadn't been so dire, Erik imagined her reaction would have been highly amusing.

He nodded. "While we were singing during _Don Juan Triumphant_, yes. While the major influence was exercised by myself, you were doing the same. I believe you were mimicking me without realizing, the way you did when we had our lessons."

Her brow furrowed as she considered his words. "Even if it works better between opposite genders, why don't you do it yourself? You have a great deal more experience."

"Moreau will be expecting me to try something," he told her. "He will be prepared for any move on my part. However, I don't think he will expect you to be the one to do so. My intent was to purposely foul an attempt. He will think I've made my play and would not be anticipating you to be executing the true plan. Beyond that, if he has any sense he will have recognized what happened during 'Point of No Return'. My influence was much more easily detected than yours, so he will not realize that you are capable of the same."

"I mean no offense," Christine began cautiously as she sat up, "but this plan seems flawed. Won't he hurt you for even making the attempt?"

Erik rose and paced the cramped space. "I believe so. Truly, though, I see no other path, since I cannot guarantee the others will be able to help us. Anything I do will be suspect, but he thinks that your fear of him will keep you from acting."

"And you don't think it will?" she asked. She certainly didn't deny that Moreau frightened her terribly. Would her fear stop her from moving against him?

He offered a tired smile. "No, I don't. You refused to sing for him even though he threatened everyone you cared for. Beyond that, I've known you for years. You are far braver than you seem to think, Angel, and I have the utmost faith in you. However, we shall not begin tonight. I'm quite weary, and I'm afraid my head is still sore."

"I don't know if I can sleep," she admitted quietly. "Or even where. There's only the one cot."

"I can assist you in sleeping, if you'd like, though I'm sorry to admit I have no ideas in terms of sleeping arrangements."

"Perhaps… if you sat on the cot, and I leaned against you? It will probably be somewhat uncomfortable, but I imagine it would be less unpleasant than either of us sleeping on the floor."

He smiled, more genuinely than before. "Are you comfortable with sleeping so close to me?"

She wondered why he was accepting the idea so easily, but did not probe further into it. "It shouldn't be a problem. After all, we've spent a great deal of time together of late. How would you help me sleep though?"

"Hypnosis," he said drily. "I can sing to you, until you forget where we are and what's happened. You'll sleep as if you had taken the medicines I gave you while we were in my home."

"You'll sing?"

He wondered for a moment why that thought still pleased her after everything that had happened. "If you'd like me to do so."

She nodded eagerly, so he followed her suggestion and took a seat on the cot after removing his outer garments, his back pressed against the wall. She curled into his chest, and he spread his cloak over them both. "What will you sing?"

"I thought to use the same song as before," he murmured. "I think 'Music of the Night' seems appropriate, does it not? _Hearing is believing; music is deceiving_."

"I don't remember that line."

"I have redone that song many times. That particular verse came from one of the earlier versions."

"All right," she yawned. He supposed her own exhaustion was catching up with her, even with the nearby threat. "Will I remember this in the morning?"

He smiled against her hair. "I was aiming to ease your thoughts of Moreau, not to create a complete blank. Yes, I do expect you will recall. Shall I begin now?"

"Please," she sighed against the soft material of his shirt.

"_Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs, and wakes imagination…_"

The song had barely completed before she was deeply asleep. He watched her for a moment, checking for any sign of impending nightmares or physical discomfort, but found none. Closing his own eyes, he began systematically clearing his mind, seeking only the comforting reservoirs of music that he depended upon most of his life. As though an orchestra had began nearby, songs began to weave through his thoughts, clearing all else away. He fell asleep shortly thereafter.

88888888

Christine did not want to perform for Moreau. There was no question; she did not want to sing. Erik sighed, massaging his temples.

"We really have no choice. You should realize that."

"I don't care!" she cried, fists bunching at her sides. "I can't do it. I can't. There is no way I can sing for that vile man again."

"You think I do?" he asked, acid in his raised voice. "Do you believe that I enjoy the thought of using my gifts for his sick pleasure? The very thought of it makes me ill, but I can see no other option. If we do not, he will separate us again, and we will not be able to set our plan in motion. Would you prefer to be alone?" He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. "I understand why you do not want to, Christine, but there is no other way. If you refuse, he may kill you, or me, or both of us."

She winced, chewing her lower lip as she considered. "Well… of course I don't want that to happen, but I don't think I can go through with it, Erik! I'm not that strong."

He gave her a tired smile. Taking a seat on the cot, he gestured for her to join him, and she did a moment later. "You _are_ that strong. Truly, you are. I know it is unfair to ask you to do so when you're still recovering from before. However, I need you to believe in my ability to protect you. I'm doing everything in my power to guide us through this safely. If we do not sing tonight, I will have no way to help you." He leaned back, considering. "I could help you. I can make it easier for you to perform."

"How?" Before he could respond, she realized herself. "You would hypnotize me again?"

"While I know it may be difficult for you to allow me such control, you would not be aware of the events around you and would not have your inhibitions to keep you from singing."

"No, it's not that I have a problem with it, but wouldn't Moreau be able to tell? After all, you have to sing for it to work."

Erik laughed low in his throat. "As I previously explained, there are factors that affect how well the method works. The genders of the people involved, susceptibility, a personal connection- each are true in this case. I could put you in a trance before the guards come for us. It will hold long enough to begin the performance, and I can maintain it while we do."

"What if we don't sing together?" Christine frowned.

"That won't be the case," he assured her. "Right now, Moreau is interested in what we can do together. After all, the only previous example was during my opera, so he will want to test our limits. While I won't be able to do this every time, I can at least subdue your fears tonight."

"He'll make us sing 'Point of No Return', won't he?"

"Most likely," Erik agreed. "It has only been performed once, on a distant stage. He will want to see it up close. I fully expect that to be on the list of songs for tonight, if not first. I also suspect he will use it to test you, since you refused to sing it before. He knows you do not want to do so, and is looking for an excuse to keep us apart."

"But if he wants us to sing well, wouldn't he have to let us rehearse?"

He shook his head. "As much as he enjoys beautiful music, he also takes pleasure in administering pain. A single misstep while singing could cost you a vicious beating, and he would enjoy doing it. I have been referred to as a monster before, but I have never been so utterly cruel without reason. Christine, you must understand that Moreau is not a sane man. Sane men can be predicted and reasoned with. A madman will disdain logical thought and will act irrationally. That is what makes him dangerous."

"You seem to understand it," she observed quietly.

"There are many points in my life where I have been less than sane," he admitted slowly. "While I have become stronger than before, I can still understand the thoughts of a madman."

She laid one hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry. What happened?"

A faint smile flitted across his expression. "While I appreciate the concern, now is not the time to delve into my rather morbid past. We have yet to reach a decision regarding tonight." He saw her hesitate. "Christine, I will tell you the truth someday, but it cannot be now."

She sighed and relented. "Very well. When do you think we will be summoned?"

Erik turned his gaze to the window. "I should think within the hour. The sun is already setting. It will only take a moment to begin the trance, so I will do so when we hear the guards approach."

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you return to your house on the lake? Why didn't you leave the opera house, or Paris altogether?"

"For you," he answered simply.

"Me?" She wouldn't have been able to explain why that surprised her, but it did.

"What else? Allowing you to leave took every bit of strength I possessed. I could not bring myself to abandon you completely, so I remained nearby, in a place you knew, in the event that you should need me."

"But the police…"

"I waited several days before I returned. Once I had, I altered the routes and sealed the entrance that the _gendarme_ had used. Beyond that, there is no way for them to find my home without a guide."

"Moreau did."

"As Madame said, Moreau is quite mad. He did not spare those that worked for him. The police are more caring of the cost and were unwilling to lose men to the traps I surround my home with," Erik explained calmly. "Now, it is not really an issue, since your Vicomte kindly had the charges against me cleared."

"Are you and Raoul friends now?"

He considered for a moment. "Friends would not be the right word. We are no longer actively enemies, but there is a great deal of resentment and the past between us. Perhaps with time we may become friends."

"At least you aren't fighting anymore," she said optimistically. "Do you think he will be looking for us?"

"No doubt," he answered. "Antoinette will have gone to him as soon as she left. Since she was a witness, they will be able to involve the _gendarme_. I cannot guarantee that they will be able to help us, but they will most certainly be trying." He paused, listening intently. "Someone is coming."

"For us?"

"I would assume so. Shall I put you in a trance now, or can you hold on until it's time to sing? I take the first part in 'Point of No Return', so there would be time."

"Now, please," she replied nervously.

He nodded and began singing in a low voice, yet intensely. A moment later she could have been in the chapel at the opera house, waiting for her lesson. He breathed a sigh of relief when he noted that he had been successful. The task had only been done a few moments when the door opened and a trio of mountainous thugs appeared.

Two of them proceeded to grab Erik to hold him as the other turned to Christine. He shoved an outfit into her arms and the three marched out. One paused at the entry.

"She had better be ready in a few minutes," he warned. "The boss wants both of you to go first."

Erik nodded and watched silently as they left before massaging his right shoulder to relieve the pain from one's grip. "Christine? Angel, you need to change."

She blinked a few times, waking from the trance. "Are we done already?"

He laughed drily and shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. You need to change clothing, and I assumed you would prefer to do so yourself. They'll be back in a few moments for us."

She blushed. "Turn around."

He obeyed while doing his best to smother the laughter at both her tone and her blush. Erik could hear her struggling against the corsets before she tapped his shoulder. "Yes?"

"I can't unlace the corset," she admitted with a great deal of embarrassment. "I laced it myself, but I can't seem to undo it."

He circled around to examine the problem. "It would seem that since then the laces have become tangled," he observed. "I imagine it would be difficult for you to undo."

"Could you possibly undo it?" she asked with a wince.

Erik nodded, not trusting himself to speak with the laughter bubbling in his throat. For all that it was an intensely stressful situation, he was finding humor in simple things. It was almost miraculous. He deftly unknotted the top of the laces and disentangled the constrictive ties. "You should be able to undo it the rest of the way on your own."

She backed away, holding the bodice up. "Thank you. Would you be so kind as to turn around again?"

He obliged and listened carefully as she managed to extract herself from her older garments and reached for the new one. The costume corset, it seemed, laced up the front, for he did not hear her encountering any difficulties. She blew out a final breath and stopped moving.

"I'm done."

"Yes, I had gathered as much," Erik drawled as he turned to face her, noting that again the costume was similar to Aminta's, yet more indecent. "Would you like me to put you in the trance again?"

She considered, but shook her head as she toyed with the flimsy skirt. "No, I'll walk down there on my own. I won't be a mindless doll for him."

"Do you still need me to help you sing?"

She paced slightly. "I don't know… I don't like the idea of not knowing what is going on."

"I can alter your state of mind just enough to ease your fears without harming your perception."

She was sorely tempted, but her mind was made up. "No. Doing so may alert Moreau to our plans. I can do this myself."

"Are you sure?" Erik asked cautiously. "You have not sang since then."

"I'm sure," she confirmed. "I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not, because I know you'll save us."

He was immensely touched by her faith in him, but was not given a chance to express that opinion. The door flew open and the same three minions stomped in. Again, two angled for Erik while only one moved to control Christine. She flinched when she saw how harshly he was being treated, but held her head high and did not struggle. He himself never uttered a sound of protest nor betrayed that it pained him. They were led from the room, and the only thing that crossed Erik's mind was that it felt more like an execution than anything else.

88888888

AN: That sums up part four. You guys have pretty much everything I do, bar a page or so. I'm not sure when I'll update again, but I'll try to make it soon. Like usual, please review with whatever you want to say. Be it praise, criticism, suggestions, what have you, I take anything. Till next time!


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Wow, I'm sorry. I meant to post this a while back, but it completely slipped my mind- I've been working on stories for other fandoms as well, so I'm trying to split my time. I opened the file for this story today and realized there was a whole chapter sitting here that I hadn't given you. Again, sorry. Please don't kill me. Now, go read it, and hopefully, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

88888888

To Christine's credit, she did not falter as they were led into the grand dining hall. Instead, she shrugged out of her jailer's grip and moved to walk by Erik's side. His lips didn't move, but she heard his voice.

"I may end up causing trouble tonight," he warned quietly. It took a moment to realize he was using his endless abilities to throw his voice. He could have been whispering in her ear. "Please, avoid anything that may anger Moreau. The less attention he focuses on you, the better our chances of succeeding."

She nodded slightly. Her own skills with ventriloquism were limited, so she didn't risk attempting to respond. Beyond that, Moreau was only steps away and would be issuing orders soon.

He offered them what could have appeared to others as a genial smile. "Welcome, welcome! I'm so glad you could come, my dears. I'm sure you're quite looking forward to performing tonight, are you not?"

"No," Erik replied flatly. "I can think of many things I would find more enjoyable. Including suicide."

The evil man's eyes narrowed, but he did not respond to the challenge in his opponent's voice. He turned to Christine. "And you, dear girl? Surely you will be pleased to sing this evening."

She didn't answer. Erik spoke instead. "We'll obey your orders for each other's sake. However, that does not make it enjoyable, and I see no reason to allow you to believe otherwise."

"Watch your tongue, boy," Moreau said coldly. "Perhaps Miss Daaé has not warned you, but insolence is not tolerated."

"Is that so?" Erik drawled, choosing not to comment on being called a boy. "A pity, but I'm afraid I have little in the way of social graces. I find I tend to speak my mind, regardless of the opinions of others."

Abruptly, one of the thugs lashed out with a whip. Erik seemed rather unaffected by the blow, save for a faint tightening of his lips. Christine cringed, but was otherwise unmoved. Erik was pleased by how calm she was remaining.

"If that unpleasant business is concluded," Moreau finally said, all smiles once more, "I believe it is time for the pair of you to sing. 'Point of No Return', if you would be so kind."

Her gaze shot to Erik, and he nodded. She decided it was time for a few words of her own. "Just to keep you informed, I am not singing because you order it," she said quietly. "I sing for Erik, as I always have. Make no mistake about that."

Moreau lurched to his feet, eyes wild. "You will obey me!!!"

She stood her ground, even as Erik tried to wave her down. "I will do no such thing. For Erik, yes, but I will not bow blindly to a madman."

The whip lashed out a second time, directed at Christine, but Erik moved so quickly it seemed he had appeared magically by the mercenary's side, prying the weapon from his hands before the blow could land.

"You will not," he hissed in a deathly cold voice, "raise hand or weapon against her. Not if you intend to live." Holding the whip with confidence, he turned to face Moreau once more. "You have our answers. We do not obey you save to defend each other. Do not think, even for one second, there is another reason. You would also do well to realize that you will not be able to hold us forever. I am a resourceful man, and I will find a way." He roughly threw the weapon away and stalked forward once more, taking his position at Christine's side. "Now, I believe we were to sing. 'Point of No Return', was it not? Angel?"

Moreau seemed near epileptic with anger and shock, clearly unused to being defied, but Christine simply nodded and began with Aminta's thoughts of joy and dreams of love.

Both thought the song seriously lacking without the choreography, but it did not detract from their performance. The music was beautiful, all-encompassing, compelling. They sang as if they had practiced that piece for years, solely for that moment. So much had changed between the singers since their last duet, primarily for the better, and the improvements in their relationship were reflected in the song. Though neither was exerting any influence, the audience found themselves falling into the music's spell.

For a whole minute after the finishing notes, there was no sound in the large chamber. They were stunned, or entranced. While Moreau habitually surrounded himself with beautiful music, this one piece transcended all expectations. The song had been nothing short of divine. A few of the hired hands clapped before the weight of the others' silence stopped them.

Moreau was the first to refocus, blinking rapidly as though he were just awakening from a long sleep. "That was… amazing. You can go, both of you. Emil, escort them to their room. I won't need them again till tomorrow. Also, fetch a change of clothes for both and send a few maids to prepare a bath."

Emil and two others quickly ushered them into their cell once more, locking them in. It hardly mattered, given they were unsure as to where they were and that neither would leave without the other.

Christine turned to Erik, stunned. "Did you have anything to do with that? Erik, you said it was too soon to make a move."

He offered her a smug grin. "I said I would not try to hypnotize him in order to escape. I never said I would not attempt to obtain some creature comforts. Surely you would enjoy a bath?"

She couldn't help it- she burst into laughter. "Dear Lord, that was absolutely priceless! I do not believe Moreau knows what has come over him."

"That would be the general idea," Erik agreed.

The door opened and a pair of menservants stepped in, wrestling a large wooden tub while a third followed with a thin dressing screen. The normal guard stood outside the door, but save that factor it would have been a scene of a happy life. Two maids entered with buckets of water. They made several trips under the watchful eyes of the thugs, bringing still more water, soap, drying cloths, and fresh clothing for both.

The door had only just closed behind them when Christine began laughing again. "I would have thought that he would have come to his senses and cancelled the order."

"Yes, well, that detail occurred to me so I took steps against it. It will not, on the other hand, occur to _him_. I wonder why that is."

His smirk simply made Christine's laughter grow. "Do you… do you want to go first?" she asked around giggles.

He shook his head. "This was intended more for your benefit than mine, though I will gladly take advantage of its availability once you are done."

She was about to do so, but the door abruptly opened once more as the same menservants carried in a second cot. They set it against the opposite wall and exited as quickly as they had come. "Was that your doing as well?"

"It was not something I specifically required, but I had suggested it as a possibility. One cot is barely sufficient for one person, let alone two. I will, however, be pushing them together. However much we may be favored now, I will not risk Moreau attempting to steal you away while I sleep, so I will be remaining close. Now, your bath is waiting, Angel."

She rather thought it was a less than cheerful end to the conversation and hoped it would not interrupt her enjoyment of the bath. It didn't. The hot water was a balm against all her emotions, calming her completely. It helped that Erik was singing quietly beyond the screen. As she scrubbed her thick mass of curls, she saw him drape her new dress over the screen, placing it in easy reach. Realizing the water was slowly beginning to cool, she sped through the remainder of her ablutions and stepped from the tub.

Erik was still singing, she noticed, but it was something she had never heard before. She also caught the faint sounds of a scratching quill. Much to her fortune, the provided gown laced up the front, so it took no time at all to dress, and she abandoned the sanctuary behind the screen while rubbing her hair with a towel. She was glad the garment was much more modest than the costume she had been wearing.

He glanced up at her approach, and she noticed he had been leaning against the wall while using his knee to hold the parchment steady. "Did you enjoy your bath?"

"I did. However, I didn't realize tonight's gifts included paper and pen."

"There's also a brush," he told her with a smile. "I left it on the window sill." He set the quill aside and recapped the small bottle of ink. "Is the water still warm? I would enjoy a quick wash."

"Yes, of course," she responded with a sigh, knowing he wouldn't reveal everything he was doing until he thought it necessary. "What were you writing?"

"Composing," he corrected. "As odd as it may be, I am inspired as I have not been in months. Since it would have been difficult for me to commit it to paper, as I had none, I _suggested_ that some be provided for me."

She arched a brow but chose not to pursue the subject as he stepped behind the screen, taking his own change of clothing with him. "When do we put this plan of yours into motion, Erik? For all that things are not going too badly now, there is no guarantee that will not change. We are still prisoners."

"I have to agree with you," he sighed. She heard him pulling his shirt over his head. "However, we cannot begin too soon either. Should my decoy come too early, he will become far more suspicious of our later actions. I also need time to provide you with the necessary skills. At the same time, we cannot delay too long, for the same reasons. I will need to teach you as much as I can before I can take the first step, and quickly." He hissed out a breath abruptly.

"What's wrong?" she asked immediately.

"It seems," he grimaced, "that I had forgotten about the blow earlier during all the excitement. However, it saw fit to remind me." He stepped out once more and Christine caught sight of the red welt that ran across his shoulder and upper arm. Fortunately his clothing had protected him from anything worse. A few bruises marked his arms and chest, but all were relatively minor.

"That looks rather painful," she commented.

He moved his arm, testing the flexibility. "I imagine it looks rather worse than it truly is. It does ache, but it does not impede movement. As long as I am cautious, there will be no difficulty." He lifted his vest from the ground and removed a vial from the concealed inside pocket.

"What is that?"

"A remedy," he explained. "It will soothe the ache and promote healing. Luckily, this particular mix requires very little to be effective. My face pains me more than this."

She immediately seized upon the brief statement. "Why does your face hurt?"

He sighed, taking note that he seemed less able to filter his words than ever before. "I have found over the years that the weight drags upon the lower eyelid. This allows my eye to dry out and creates a risk for infection. However, that same weight can also become painful with time. I can protect against the dryness and infection, but without a proper mask to lessen the drag, I can do nothing to ease the pain. The one I'm wearing only serves to disguise the deformity."

She stared at the ground for a moment. "What if you had your normal mask?"

His gaze shot to her immediately. "Why?"

"Well…" she licked her lips. "I may have borrowed one of your spares to examine. I was curious as to how it remained on without being tied."

"Do you have it?" he asked excitedly.

She nodded. "It was in a hidden pocket on my gown. I checked after we were brought here, and it was still there. I would have given it to you sooner, but I didn't know you needed it so badly." She hurriedly took the garment and drew it out, handing it to him. "How does it work?"

"To ease the pain? These took years to design, and are specifically structured to hold the mass up, preventing it from keeping my eye open." He examined the one in question. "This is not one of my better works aesthetically, but it will do just as well, and will certainly be an improvement over the one I have been using." Rather than putting it on immediately, however, he set it on the ground near the bathtub as he disappeared behind the screen once more. She heard in the water and retrieved the hairbrush, beginning the arduous task of untangling her unruly curls.

He finished rather quickly, a matter of minutes. When he stepped out, he was wearing the white mask rather than the black bandit mask. "Do you have any clothes you would like washed? I was going to clean my other outfit."

"What? Oh, yes." She quickly sorted through the few things she had and offered him the garments in question. "Do you plan on hypnotizing Moreau again?"

"No," he replied drily. "I prefer to take a minimal amount of risks. We have a tub, soap, warm water. I was going to wash them myself, before the servants come back for it."

"Oh," she muttered, embarrassed.

He folded away the screen, leaning it against the far wall. He glanced at her curiously. "I may easily be wrong, but I assumed you wanted to take care of your hair?" At her puzzled expression, he continued. "I believe the brush will accomplish more if you use it rather than hold it at your side."

Her gaze moved to the object she had just realized she was clenching tightly. "Right. Of course. Naturally."

Erik waited a beat. "Are you reiterating the same concept repeatedly for any discernable reason?"

She shook her head. "No. Not at all."

He sighed, not understanding. "Just brush your hair, Christine. I'll take care of the clothes." His mind automatically demanded to know what was bothering her, but he smothered the impulse. 'You have no right to, remember?' he thought angrily, taking his frustration out on his shirt. The clothes he had been given were too large, so he had decided they would only be used while sleeping.

He had just completed the task when Christine called his name.

"Erik?"

He glanced up. "Yes?"

She chewed her lower lip nervously. "Could you help?" She held out the brush. A quick evaluation demonstrated that she had not completed the task. He imagined her hair was difficult to care for, could recall Madame Giry saying as much shortly after Christine had arrived at the opera, a matter of days before he first sang to her. He reminisced briefly on those happier days before focusing once again.

He accepted it, and sat behind her on the cot. "Hold still, and tell me if I hurt you." She nodded, but he stilled her head before he began running the brush through the damp mass. "Did Meg do this for you, while you lived in the dormitories?"

"Normally," she responded. "Sometimes it was Madame, or one of the other girls, but Meg did most of the time"

"The curls?" he speculated aloud, carefully smoothing a difficult snarl. "No doubt they become entangled as you wash and dry your hair."

"Quite easily. It doesn't help that I don't bind my hair before sleeping."

"Why don't you?"

"I don't care for having a ridge at the back of my head while I try to sleep," she admitted, trying to smother a yawn.

He laughed. "Tired, Angel?"

"A little."

"This won't take much longer," he assured her, working more quickly. "You'll be able to sleep as soon as I've finished and arranged the beds suitably."

"How are you going to keep the cots together?"

"You're very inquisitive this evening. I was going to tie the legs together, perhaps sew the cloth together when I have more time."

"You have rope?"

He shook his head. "Not rope, no. I have a length of cord I'll be using. Unfortunately, it's too short to be used as a lasso."

"A needle?"

He tapped a lapel pin on his jacket, which he had left nearby. "There is a needle concealed in it, though I rarely have need of it. I learned years ago to be prepared for anything." She opened her mouth to ask another question, but he cut her off. "I've finished. Give me a moment and I'll set up the cots properly."

She nodded and stood, leaning against a wall as he moved the two together. A few brisk steps carried him to his jacket, from which he drew the cord he had mentioned previously. He efficiently bound the legs with the cord, tying strong knots to ensure it would hold. Once that was done, he spread the blankets and stepped back.

She couldn't hold back the yawn this time. "I'm rather tired now," she said just before another came.

He smiled softly. "Then get some sleep, Christine."

"What about you?"

"I'll be a few more minutes, but it won't be long," Erik assured her. "Go to bed."

She obeyed, but turned to him one last time before closing her eyes. "Erik?"

"Hm?"

"I'm glad I'm not here alone, but I'm sorry I got you involved in this."

He sighed. "Moreau meant for me to become involved, Angel. None of this is your doing. Now sleep."

She was beginning to have a difficult time focusing. "Good night."

"Sleep well, Angel."

88888888

AN: Again, my apologies, but I thought I had posted this already. There'll be several more chapters, obviously, but I'd like my readers' input. If you guys have anything to say, by all means, do so. Questions, comments, concerns, suggestions, they're all good. Till next time!


	6. Chapter 6

AN: So, I know it's been a while. I'm sorry. I actually hurt my shoulder, which made it really hard for me to write. Special thanks to my beta, Muse, who has just started working with me on this. Anyways, enough of me. Read the story!

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything. Shocking, isn't it?

88888888

Erik was already up when Christine awakened the next morning, rubbing sleep from her eyes. He was again seated on the floor near the window, writing quickly. She pushed back the blankets and sat up, shivering slightly.

He stopped working for a moment. "Good morning."

"As good as it can be, given the circumstances, I suppose," she answered. "How long have you been awake?"

He considered. "An hour or so, I believe. I'm unaccustomed to waking to sunlight."

She yawned and brushed her hair from her face. "I suppose that makes sense. Now what? We aren't going to be summoned again until tonight."

Erik rose as well. "Now, we begin your training. I will not expect perfection, Christine, but you would do well to learn as much as you possibly can. Admittedly, I am unsure as to how we begin, as I have never taught anyone this particular art." He frowned and paced for a moment. "We shall begin as we always do, I should think. While you sang spectacularly last night, there were some errors in technique. No doubt it is because you have not been practicing. Scales, then. Begin."

Christine obediently took a singer's stance and began her scales. He corrected her posture from time to time- the angle of her head, straightening her spine. Once he was satisfied that she remembered the basics, he ordered her to sing an aria of her choice in order to gauge her current ability.

She had been inhaling for the first note when a man strode into the room. "What are you up to?" he demanded. "You're to save your voice for performances."

Erik favored the mercenary with a particularly powerful glare, and the other man backed away. "Your master demands perfection, does he not? I am merely continuing Miss Daaé's lessons. She has not received formal training in months."

His words threw the guard off, and he exited in confusion.

"He will tell Moreau," Christine observed quietly.

"No doubt," Erik said calmly. "However, there is no way to tell that I did not give the whole truth. I admitted publicly to being your teacher. Allow him to believe that we are obeying him, that you are keeping your word. You said you would sing more beautifully if you were with me. It cannot harm us if he believes it. Now, Angel, the aria, if you please."

She began, singing softly yet powerfully as he had always taught her to do for private performances. Volume was necessary on stage, not when your audience was three paces from you.

He waited as the last notes faded. "From Wagner's _Tristan und Isolde_, yes? An interesting choice, yet very well done. Now, you are not holding the highest notes as well as I should like. Attempt 'Think of Me'- that piece is suitable for the purpose. Remember, diaphragm, then lungs. Begin."

_Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said good-bye…_

"Much better. I am glad you have not forgotten everything I taught you over the years. Now, Angel, you must understand that teaching you this will be an adventure for us both. You have done so before by mimicking me, so that will be how we begin. Ensure you can hear the subtleties in my song, Christine, and use it in your own. Since you succeeded in this endeavor once before, we will attempt it with the same song. 'Point of No Return'. Begin."

He stopped them frequently mid-song in order to clarify the tone. After several hours, she was able to produce the undercurrent in her voice that could be used for hypnotism.

"You've heard me use it before," he explained. "Can you recall? It would have sounded perhaps like a vague echo. Again."

She sank onto the cot. "I'm tired."

Erik softened when he saw the weariness in her face. "Very well. That shall be all for today's lessons. Try to rest. I'll wake you when we're summoned."

Christine nodded, already half asleep. "Am I making any progress?"

"Yes," he reassured her quietly. "A great deal. We shall be ready to make our move quite soon. Rest, Angel. Find the dreams that take you from this place."

He watched her until he was sure she was sleeping, then returned to his papers once more. He had been composing, just as he had told her, but he had also been making plans. Any time which was not otherwise occupied was spent watching from the small window. He took particular note of the direction any visitors came from, and Erik also observed the wooded area to the east. If it was decently sized, it could be used to hide when they made their escape. He examined the plans. They would have to be left for Christine, of course- Erik highly doubted he would be allowed to remain with her after their false attempt, and she would need to be aware of the details.

Once he was satisfied with the written plans, he made sure every possible useful supply tucked away in the hidden pockets of his clothing. He quickly changed from the looser garments he had slept in to the better fitting formalwear he preferred.

Barely a moment after Christine began to stir, Erik was at her side. He recognized the signs of impending nightmares in a heartbeat. He began singing softly, lacing it with quiet suggestion. _Sleep,_ the song said, _sleep peacefully without dreams. Do not fear the outside world, for it cannot harm you there._

She quieted with the words, a faint smile on her lips. He waited a few moments longer before he was satisfied. He moved to the window once more, observing the sparse comings and goings. He was relatively confident in his ability to lead Christine back to Paris, yet he worried over the state he might be in when it came time to make an escape. Moreau would not take his attempt well, and he would doubtless suffer. He could only hope Moreau's desire for his talents would spare him anything too horrible.

Erik growled low in his throat. The plan was contingent on his wellbeing, yet that was dependent on a madman's whims. Would he be able to free them even if things did not go well?

"Erik?" Christine murmured as she woke up.

He started, having completely lost track of time. The room was dark now, the moon too thin to provide light and the few candles exhausted. "I'm here, Angel. By the window." He watched her cross the room to him, and caught her automatically when she stumbled. "Be careful."

"I apologize," she said, embarrassed. "I couldn't see very well."

He shrugged. "It is understandable. There is little light at the moment."

"You seem to be able to see rather well," Christine observed.

He smiled faintly. "The result of many years living underground, though admittedly I had always been able to see more clearly than most in the dark. It was rather disconcerting to those around me."

"It's cold."

He allowed her to slide next to him and wrapped his cloak around them both. "A bit chilly, perhaps. You could have remained in bed."

"Won't Moreau be asking for us soon?" she asked.

"In all likelihood, yes. He has no other singers here, so we are his sole means of entertainment."

"None? How do you-?"

"I freed the others while I was searching for you. My observations have not indicated any other prisoners, and my instincts tell me that he had focused solely on retrieving us rather than expanding his collection further. Did you see any while we performed last night?"

She shook her head. "Won't that make things more difficult for us?"

"To escape?" he clarified. "Yes. It means we will be watched more carefully than is usual. If that had not been the case, I do not doubt I would already have discovered a way out. As things stand, I cannot even remove us from this room. That is why our plan must be carried out while we are in the grand hall."

"I'm scared," she whispered. "What if this doesn't work?"

"You must be strong," Erik urged her. "It is a good plan, a sound plan. You already show an unusual degree of skill for hypnotic singing despite the lack of training. I will admit that plans can fail, but I have taken as many steps as possible to ensure success. You must also remember that Madame Giry will have gone to the _gendarme_. She and the Vicomte will be searching for us."

She sighed and leaned more fully against him, staring out at the night sky. "I know. I'm still afraid. I don't know how you can be so brave, Erik, not when you've already had to live through this once."

"I focus on what I can control," he explained. "As long as my attention is centered on our escape and keeping you safe, I have less energy to spend being afraid. It is natural to fear, Angel, as long as you do not let the fear consume you."

They stood together for a long time. Christine's eyes were on the soft starlight. Erik continued to observe the surrounding area. Finally, he heard an approach.

"I do believe our reprieve is over," he said quietly. "Are you ready?"

She nodded. "If you can be strong, so can I."

He let out a soft laugh. "Very well. No doubt you'll sing as beautifully as you did last night."

The guard stepped in, a bundle of fabric in his hand, and set a candle down. "For the girl," he said gruffly.

Erik took and examined the costume. "No. This is far too indecent. She will not be flaunted so blatantly. You may tell your master that."

"Erik, don't," she argued.

He shook his head. "We have said we will sing for the other's sake. That does not mean I will allow him to mistreat you so."

The mercenary moved forward until he was toe to toe with the masked man. "The Marquis gave the order," he growled. "You'd do best to obey."

"Obey?" Erik scoffed. "I think not. I am not frightened of you, and neither will I allow you or any other to treat her like anything other than a lady."

The other man, Christine realized, was far larger. He raised one fist, but Erik was much faster. Erik ducked under his arm and slammed his elbow viciously into his gut, knocking him back several paces. A moment later, he lashed out with one leg and knocked his opponent to the ground.

"As I have said," Erik sneered coldly, "I am not frightened of you and I will not allow it. Take your miserable carcass from this room and tell your master that."

It could have been amusing to watch the huge man scuttle from the room like a frightened child, but the trouble it could bring dulled Christine's enjoyment. "Won't this get you in trouble?"

He shrugged in a decidedly elegant fashion. "Perhaps. It is of little consequence. Moreau hardly expects me to remain completely complacent. I am merely obliging him a bit."

"But…"

"I am quite sure this will amount to little. No great harm will come from my fighting him over a costume- I am far too valuable in his estimation."

"It's disturbing to hear you speak of your value," she admitted. "It feels as if we were objects rather than people."

"Men like Moreau see no difference between the two. To him, we are indeed objects, to be toyed with and discarded at whim. Though I do not mean to sound vain, I am unusually gifted, which makes me exceptionally difficult to replace. He may shout, perhaps do me some small physical harm, but he will go no further over something so insignificant."

"Do you not care what he does to you?" asked Christine. "You speak of it so casually."

"My fear in this is for your sake, Angel, not mine," he answered. "I have survived far worse- perhaps not as well as I would have liked, but I can certainly do so again. Physical pain does not deter me."

She protested. "Your behavior could get you killed! You weren't here before, you didn't see. He is mad, Erik, completely mad! What you see as a trivial matter could be far more to him!"

His expression softened. "The concern is appreciated, but unnecessary. I understand madness, Christine. I was lost in my own for some time."

"I'm sorry," she murmured, biting her lower lip. "I did not mean to summon painful memories."

Erik shook his head. "They cannot be avoided in such a situation. Rest assured you are doing me no harm." He paused and listened. "It seems someone is coming."

"Moreau?" Christine guessed anxiously.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. It is entirely possible he will choose to overlook my behavior. Do not fear for my sake, Angel. I shall be fine."

It was the same guard, but he was no longer carrying the costume Erik had found less than satisfactory. Instead, he just gestured for them to follow. As they obeyed, he grasped Christine's shoulder.

"To make sure you don't try anything funny," the mercenary explained. "The Marquis decided hurting you wouldn't solve anything. After all, you're clearly more interested in her than yourself."

His eyes narrowed behind the mask. "The Marquis would do well to remember that harming her would bring far more trouble down upon him than he could ever be prepared for. However, he is in this correct. I will do nothing to jeopardize her."

"Then go. The Marquis is waiting."

Erik turned, cloak billowing behind him. For just an instant, Christine saw him in the opera house, the unknown figure that intimidated and awed. He still did, she decided. Their captors just weren't smart enough to understand. The guard's grip was painful, but she did nothing to betray the discomfort, knowing the reaction it would provoke from her teacher.

The grand hall appeared as it always did, a lavish display of wealth that still seemed too gaudy, too garish. Erik's mind traveled to his more elegant home, both the house on the lake and his manor. Either was vastly preferable to this mansion of horrors. He knew he was no angel, regardless of what Christine said, yet he had never sunk so low as to viciously torture those that had done nothing wrong. Moreau epitomized everything Erik had learned to despise in humanity.

His gaze settled as always on Christine. She was still wearing the simple white gown Moreau had provided her with, and to him, she truly could have been sent from the heavens. It was not just her form- her beauty, while considerable, was hardly meaningful to him. Her voice and her caring soul drew him to her with no effort, a willing moth to the flame. In that moment, he knew he would never stop loving her. Would he be strong enough to let her go a second time, if that was her choice? Could he survive another rejection after this torture?

Yes. She had already indicated that she would not simply leave. Even if he could not be with her as he so desired, he would accept her friendship. It had taken so much to draw himself from the depths of his madness. He would not fall a second time, when there was hope. He would free her if she asked.

She glanced up at him, surprised to find him staring so intently. One brow quirked, asking silently if something was troubling him.

He shook his head. He had resolved the issues that had plagued him. Now all that remained was to free her from the trap they had found themselves in. She deserved freedom, after he had nearly taken it from her himself. He wondered if she would understand someday

The Marquis strode in, acting rather like an overly fussy peacock. He had dressed in a suit of burgundy velvet that Erik found particularly tasteless, though he was hardly surprised. He certainly seemed to consider himself important, as he took his place at the head of the table. He waved one hand imperiously. His prisoners reluctantly moved closer.

"Have a seat," he ordered, "and eat something. Then you may sing."

Erik did not move. "It is a poor plan, to sing just after a meal. To do so decreases the strength of the performance."

Moreau glared, but nodded. "True, I suppose. Would you care to begin?"

"You know already that I do not _care_ to have anything to do with you. However, I have no arguments with beginning."

"Erik…" Christine murmured, laying one gentle hand on his shoulder. "Please, don't anger him."

"Yes, Erik, don't anger me," Moreau mocked. "You should heed the girl, since she is obviously wiser than you."

"You mistake caution for wisdom. I do not care for caution," Erik stated calmly. "I have lived cautiously for a very long time. I find I am quite disenchanted with it."

The Marquis took several great heaving breaths, until the crimson wash to his sallow skin had faded. "Sing," he ordered. "Then you may eat while Miss Daaé performs."

"Anything in particular?"

"Something from Chalumeau's _Hannibal_. One of Hannibal's pieces."

Erik complied. In terms of technique, the performance was flawlessly done, yet Christine, who was far more accustomed to his ability, heard none of his usual passion. Noticing all attention was directed away from her, she attempted to throw her voice as he so often did, glad of the few minutes he had spent teaching her the technique.

"Erik, you'll only bring more harm to yourself if you do not really try," she warned, carefully stilling her lips. "Please don't get yourself hurt on my account."

She knew he had heard her when he jumped slightly. It was a faint movement, too small to be observed by any that did not know him well. During a break in the piece, his voice came to her.

"He will not realize, Angel. You worry far too much."

His words seemed true enough, sine Moreau made no comment and turned to her instead upon the completion of the song. "Now you. Elissa's aria."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Elissa's aria," their captor repeated. "You earned fame with it, so you should remember it. I wish to hear it."

She was oh so tempted to refuse, but Erik spoke again, just to her. "There is no harm in it, Christine. Do as I did. Divorce yourself from the situation. Your technique is stunning. They will not note the absence of your soul."

"I don't know how," she whispered back. "You always taught me to sing from the soul. How can I go against that now?"

"Let your soul take wing. Imagine happier times. Be anywhere else."

She obeyed, as she always did. She stumbled at first, but her voice grew stronger as her mind returned to the gala, as she stood on stage as the star for the first time. Her heart had found a place in the past, rather than in the desolate present.

She only realized the song had finished when Erik's hand brushed hers. "Eat something," he urged her.

Moreau watched both carefully as they ate. Erik did so quickly and neatly, then waited for Christine to finish. "I hope that you are not conspiring against me."

"Would I tell you if we were?" countered Erik. "You are a fool if you expect us to simply allow you to continue this. Make no mistake. We will not remain your prisoners forever."

"You will," the Marquis said darkly. "You have no way to leave this place. I am not so foolish as to allow you to drug the wine a second time."

Erik laughed, a cold harsh sound. "Do you think a sleeping draught in your drink is all I am capable of? If you truly believe that, you are indeed a fool."

With the false confidence brought on by too much alcohol, the Marquis foolishly dismissed his captive's words. "I am ready to retire. Return them to their room," he ordered one of his men.

He began to reach for Christine, but Erik easily batted away his hand. "I will not attempt anything. There is no need to harm her."

They were surprised when the guard complied, allowing her to walk freely by his side. Christine stayed very close to Erik's side, but otherwise seemed comfortable. Being shut in their small cell once more was almost a relief.

She half-collapsed on the cot. "I'm so tired…"

"Understandable," Erik murmured as he seated himself beside her. "You put a great deal of effort into your lessons earlier, and sang again this evening. Get some rest."

She reached for him and he took her hand. "I'm so scared," she whispered. "For myself, for you, for everyone. He's dangerous, Erik. He'll hurt you when we begin."

Erik allowed himself to stretch out beside her, enfolding her in his arms. "Do not fret so, Angel. All you will do is create more fear with which to torment yourself. Think of something happier."

"Talk to me," she pleaded through her exhaustion. "Tell me about your plans for the Populaire."

He acquiesced. "The décor will, of course, need replaced. The nude statues will be changed for more tasteful pieces. The seats will be made more comfortable, to allow the audience to focus entirely on the production. There will be a new chandelier. A less gaudy one, I should think. Can you see it? Meg shall be the lead ballerina. Antoinette will be as she always was. Monsieur Reyer will take his place once more, if I can persuade him to return. And you, you will be standing in the spotlight, where you have always belonged. Your beautiful voice will awe any who hear it."

She could see it as wakefulness blended with dreams. The beautiful reds and golds. The decadent seats. And he was there, she realized as sleep descended. He was on the stage with her, just as they had during _Don Juan_. Together.

88888888

AN: Again, apologies for the delay. I hope everyone enjoyed the new chapter, though, and hopefully the next one will be up faster. As usual, whatever you want to say, go for it! Suggestions, questions, comments, whatever. Till next time!


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Sorry for the delay, but I had a difficult time with this one, mostly because I dislike harming characters yet it so often ends up being necessary for the sake of the story. Again, thanks to xXxMusexXx for being my amazing new beta- I have no idea how I would've gotten through this one without you!

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Shocking, isn't it?

88888888

Several days passed in a similar vein. Erik would coach Christine from the time she rose to midday, after which she would rest. They would go down to the grand hall together- Moreau had attempted otherwise a time or two, but Erik had quickly put an end to that. The Marquis had been displeased, but it was simpler to allow it than to face off with the wily Opera Ghost when Christine was on the line. Finally, he ordered her to stop, only midway through their normal practice hours.

"Erik?" she asked, confused. "I'm sorry, did I make a mistake?"

He shook his head, smiling. "No, you did wonderfully. I think we're ready. You know as much as I could hope to teach you so quickly. We shall begin tonight."

"Is that wise?" she asked, desperately trying to find a way to escape without putting him at risk. "Can we not simply make the attempt tonight?"

"To move decisively is a powerful course of action," he explained, "but a foolish one. We have reached the time in which Moreau will become suspicious. If we were to truly make our move this evening, he would be prepared for the possibility. We would have no head start."

Christine stared hard at the ground. "I know you're right, but still I don't like this. How can you put your life on the line so calmly?!"

"Because I am willing to risk my life to win the chance to live," he answered coolly. "For the first time in my years, I can truly seek a more normal life for myself. I am not willing to give up without a fight, regardless of the risk."

She grimaced. "Must you use those words?"

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, surprised.

"You said you were willing to risk your life to win the chance to live. That is almost exactly what I said to Raoul just before _Don Juan Triumphant_."

"Ah," he murmured. "I was not aware. It was not my intention to unsettle you further, Angel, and had I known, I would have worded the sentiment differently. Nevertheless, it is true. I will not forfeit my chance now. It is also not only my life that is at stake. If risking my life is what it takes to save yours, so be it. I owe you that at least for what I have done."

"What you have done?" she repeated. "Erik, you saved me from Moreau. You cared for me ceaselessly since. Can you truly believe that with everything you have given me, I would continue to hold you responsible for unpleasant events that occurred while you were not in your right mind?"

He paused uncertainly. "I still hold myself responsible. I expected the same from others. Only Madame Giry has not blamed me for my foolhardy actions." He turned away, staring out the window. "You should rest. Tonight shall no doubt be taxing."

Christine softened. "If you aren't ready to discuss it yet, that's all right. I apologize if I upset you."

Erik closed his eyes and sighed. "It is no fault of yours. The subject is still difficult for me, and the madness is still too near. I would not want to make a mistake again."

"You should rest too," she advised quietly. "You didn't sleep at all last night."

He laughed faintly. "Did I wake you? I was attempting to remain quiet."

She shook her head. "You don't keep to yourself as much as you once did. I could see it in your eyes when we began this morning."

"Very well," he acquiesced. "However, there are a few things I would like to discuss with you before we do." He drew a dagger from one of his many hidden sheaths and passed it to her. "I want you to keep this with you always, Angel. Use it if you believe there is any danger."

She took it cautiously. "Must I?"

He nodded. "It would be prudent. I fear that Moreau will not permit us to remain together after tonight's false attempt. If that should prove true, I would prefer you not to be left defenseless. I have written some plans, which are concealed beneath a loose flagstone under the cots. Should Moreau separate us, read them completely and carefully. If you are given a chance to flee, do so, and do not fear for me. I will follow as quickly as I may."

Christine's brow furrowed. "What if you are hurt? I could not abandon you here."

Erik grasped her shoulders and stared directly into her eyes. "Christine, I am serious. If you are given a chance, escape. I am only held here through my concern for your wellbeing. If you are no longer here, Moreau cannot use you as a weapon against me, and I will not be long in making my own departure. You must heed me in this, Angel, if nothing else. You must run if you have a chance. Promise me, Angel."

"I cannot," she whispered. He began to argue, but she stopped him. "Erik, I cannot. If you are hurt, I could never simply leave. You came for me, and you saved me when I thought all was lost. I cannot, will not, repay you by abandoning you to Moreau."

He sighed. "It would seem that we are at an impasse. Let us rest, Angel. Perhaps these matters will be simpler with some sleep." He stepped behind the dressing screen, changing to the looser clothing. "Tonight will be difficult."

She obediently curled up on the cot, but she could not seem to settle even when Erik took his place at her side. She continued to turn restlessly, too disturbed by what laid ahead to even begin to rest. Christine considered saying something, but he spared her the need.

"Angel, I fear that if you do not calm yourself, neither of us will be able to rest."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just can't seem to stop thinking of tonight."

He hummed in understanding. "While I can understand how you feel, neither of us will do any good if we cannot sleep. You need to relax."

"I know, but nothing seems to ease my fears."

Erik touched the side of her face cautiously, and delighted in secret when she did not flinch away. Made bold by the lack of rejection, he shifted until she was tucked against him, head under his chin. "Would you like me to sing for you, Angel?"

"Please," Christine murmured, though some of her anxiety was already draining away. "Can you sing 'Music of the Night' for me again?"

"Of course," he replied. "It was written for you, after all." He hummed the opening bars before he began to sing.

The words were so soft Christine feared she would miss some, but she did not. Instead, she surrendered to the music, allowing it to carry her back. How shocked she had been, that first night, how pleased. Her Angel had been a man, and he had at last appeared to her. He had sung to her so sweetly… Sleep finally claimed her.

Erik smiled against her hair as he completed the last verse, which she had missed then as well. "You alone can make my soul take flight. Help me make the music of the… night…"

88888888

"Up! Get up!"

Erik opened his eyes unwillingly, searching for the source of the commotion. Christine began to stir in his arms. Finally, he realized a mercenary stood in the entry to their pitiful cell, glaring at them. The room was pitch-black, and it occurred to him that he had slept far longer than he had intended.

"Erik?" she whispered, frightened. "What is going on?"

He ran his hand over her hair. "The guard is here for us, Angel. I'm afraid we rested a long while."

"Oh," she murmured, sitting up.

Erik glared at the guard. "Allow us a moment to awaken properly," he snapped.

The leering man shook his head. "The Marquis wants you now, Phantom. He didn't say anything about giving you extra time."

Christine laid a hand on his arm. "It's all right. I am already awake."

He sighed. "Very well." He got to his feet, ignoring the faint aches that accompanied sleeping longer than he was accustomed. Christine rose as well, more gracefully than he had since she was accustomed to resting during the day. "By all means, lead the way."

The hall was as crowded as usual, he noted. Very well. It made his false attempt seem more plausible, for they would never believe he could control an entire room. Christine was shivering, and he offered her an encouraging smile. She didn't return the gesture.

"Relax," he murmured, throwing his voice to her ears alone. "You are the star of the Opera Populaire, and a trained actress. Do not betray the plan now."

She nodded, taking several deep breaths until her expression softened. "I can try," she replied in the same fashion.

"Be strong, Angel," he urged. "No matter what occurs, remember all I have taught you. You know what we must do this evening."

Moreau stood as they approached, acting once more a gracious host despite the number of armed men ringing the vast room. "Welcome, dear songbirds! No doubt tonight's performance shall be riveting!"

Erik's visible brow arched disdainfully. "No doubt. What is it tonight?"

"Ladies first, I should think," the Marquis drawled indolently, reaching for a glass of wine as he began devouring his meal.

Christine nodded. "What shall it be?" Her voice was soft, yet carried well.

He paused, considering. "It matters not. A solo of your choice, I think. If you would be so kind."

She barely kept words that were highly reminiscent of Erik's to herself, instead running through her repertoire. Finally she settled on the Queen of Night's aria from Mozart's _The Magic Flute_. The opening notes trickled easily from her lips and sprang together to weave the beautiful music. It was a difficult piece, near impossible for many, and one Erik had taught her flawlessly in the months before her grand debut. The song lingered magically in the minds of her audience, though she had done nothing but sing as she always had.

"Brava," he applauded in her ear, and she turned to see his expression. He had adored her voice always, but never had that song sounded more marvelous. His eyes were rapturous as he basked in the musical marvel.

"Thank you," she whispered back.

The Marquis paid no comment or heed to the spectacular performance, dismissing it as one would a stray dog by the side of the road. Erik struggled to hold back his fury. "Now you, my dear Erik. Of your choice as well."

Erik had already decided what to use. "No One Would Listen" was a piece of his own. Because of it, Moreau and the others would be more intent on the music, would listen more closely. He would hold all within his sway, but release the Marquis to the end of the song, allowing his attempt to be recognized. While his voice controlled the men, the words were meant for Christine. In a way, he was attempting once more to convey his feelings to her.

_No one would listen, no one but her heard as the outcast hears… Shamed into solitude, shunned by the multitude…_

Only Christine could hear the message under the words, lulling the others into a stupor as Erik's spellbinding voice echoed through the chamber, increasing in power all the while. It was his, she knew. She recognized the tenderness that always sounded when he performed his work. She felt the moment Erik shifted his control, freeing Moreau's mind from his power. It took several seconds for the trance to lift, but he was suddenly on his feet.

"Guards! He seeks to enchant us! Stop him!"

The tiniest of smiles creased his features as he continued to sing, yet released the men. Several attacked him at once. Erik did not cooperate, struggling mightily against the vicious mercenaries, but he lacked a weapon and was outnumbered. Christine cried out in horror as Erik sank to his knees, one hand to his ribs. A final hit sent his mask skidding across the floor, but she snatched it up and held it against her chest before a guard could take it. Eventually they managed to bind him, and Moreau stalked forward, furious, gaze locked on his kneeling victim.

"How dare you?!" he snarled, kicking his captive in the gut. "Do you take me for a fool? I expected an attempt soon."

Erik had doubled under the blow, but did not utter a sound of pain. "I am not one to suffer captivity quietly. Perhaps I failed tonight, but you cannot hold me here forever."

"Erik," Christine whispered fearfully. "Erik."

He turned his head slightly until he could see her. Moreau followed the movement with gleeful eyes. "Perhaps harming you will not force you to cease. Perhaps I should focus my efforts on your charming lady instead."

His eyes narrowed, emphasizing the distortion to his features. "She had no part of this. Do not harm her for my actions."

"No, perhaps I shan't," the Marquis mused. "After all, the girl has been true to her word and has not acted against me. Devon, return Miss Daaé to her cell. She will simply be deprived of a meal. The true punishment shall be reserved for you, my deceitful friend. You should thank me for my generosity."

Christine reached for Erik, but the mercenary pulled her away, ignoring her screamed protest. Her teacher watched silently until she was out of sight before fixing Moreau with a cold stare. "You do not understand generosity, or you would never threaten to harm one that has not wronged you. I will not thank you for anything, you foul creature. Beat me, I care not. I will not bow to any man."

"Defiance will not aid you," his captor said sternly. "Emil, have your men escort the Phantom to the dungeons. No," he decided. "That would not do. Place him in the cell across from Miss Daaé's, so she may hear his screams. It should dissuade her from further action."

88888888

Christine had been able to contain her fear in Erik's presence, had been able to ignore the terror that lurked in her mind, but he was gone. The madman that held them captive had taken him from her, and she felt so alone. Tears rolled down her face as her unkind mind presented many possibilities for Erik's fate.

"I wish this had never happened," she whispered into the night. "I wish I had told Erik the truth sooner. I wish… I wish I had been strong enough to prevent this."

"Fearing for your lover's future?"

She spun away from the window suddenly, facing her tormentor. She had not heard him open the door. "What have you done to him?!"

"Nothing. Yet. That would be why I am here, dear songbird," Moreau taunted. "He must pay for his actions, you know, and I, generous soul that I am, thought you should be told what lies in wait for your precious Erik."

Her hands shook as she wound them into the thin fabric of her gown. "What will you do to him?" she demanded.

"Nothing he does not deserve," he assured her coldly. "He will be punished for his disobedience. No doubt you will hear his screams."

Christine felt the blood leave her face. "You mean to torture him."

"Clever girl," the Marquis applauded. "He will learn the cost of his defiance. It will prove a lesson for you as well, I expect." The cruel captor marched from the room, leaving Christine in her solitude once more.

She sank to her knees as the full ramifications of Moreau's words sank in. "Erik… please… be strong. You can't leave me here alone. I need you, my Angel."

88888888

Even awaiting torture, Erik's clever mind searched endlessly for ways to ease the situation. His tolerance for physical harm was high, but not infinite, and he also had to be aware of Christine's needs, and their planned escape. He could not allow himself to be too badly injured or he would be unable to lead them back to Paris.

The situation seemed bleak. He was strapped to a hard table and while it was possible he could have freed himself given enough time, he was under constant watch and Moreau would soon be appearing.

His mind turned to his assessment of the Marquis. Though he was an unpleasant and volatile sort, Erik suspected he lacked much in the way of resilience. Had the situations been reversed, Moreau would most likely suffer the beginnings of the torture well but would break quickly. Unseen by his guards, Erik's lips quirked slightly.

Deception was an art as well, as much as his music, and Erik was equally talented in both. He would allow Moreau to "break" him, would feign surrender and beg to be freed of the pain. His cues would be taken from the men's reactions. While there was no way to avoid all injury, his plan would at least succeed in preventing a more severe beating.

His keen ears heard Christine weep, just across the hall, and the sound was a blow to his heart. She had feared exactly what had occurred. Moreau's voice sounded far more loudly, mocking her, and Erik felt his hatred for their cruel captor grow. What manner of gentleman would deliberately cause a lady's tears? She demanded to know what had happened to him. The conversation continued, confirming the exact fate he had suspected. However, Christine's final words, upon the Marquis' departure, echoed through his mind. She had called him her Angel, something she had not done since he had freed her and the boy. She called him her Angel, and she needed him. Strength flared once more, lending support to Erik's spirit. This would be a difficult performance.

Moreau strode into the cell, several more mercenaries at his back. He seemed far too pleased with himself, in Erik's estimation, and his face shone with a cruel light. No doubt he had delighted in Christine's fear and was anticipating the satisfaction of beating Erik.

"Your charming lady seems quite concerned for you," the Marquis laughed. "She demanded rather forcefully to know what would happen."

Erik chose not to respond, knowing any words that came would be of the sort that would create more trouble for him. With Christine's safety in peril, he could not give in to the urge.

Moreau turned to a table loaded with weapons, running a familiar hand over the instruments of torture. "You must have realized that failure meant pain, my dear man. Perhaps I should have made that more clear and spared us this evening's events." He lifted a slender knife and held it to the light. Erik caught the darkness of old blood on the blade. He had taken lives, yes, but the Punjab lasso was a quick and painless death. He took no delight in the suffering of others.

The Marquis ran a thumb down the blade consideringly. "You must understand the consequences of your actions. I simply cannot abide those that disobey me."

Erik scoffed. "I was fully aware of the risk I was taking, and I believe I made it clear early on that I would not obey you. If you allowed yourself to believe otherwise, the mistake was on your part, not mine."

Moreau's grip on the knife tightened. The blade slipped and sank deeply into the Marquis' finger, causing him to curse viciously. "Watch your tongue, boy. I have dealt with stronger wills than yours before."

He doubted that to be true, knowing fully well that his will was near indomitable after the tests he had endured from an early age. He would survive, as he always did. "If you mean to torture me, do get on with it."

The first knife stroke was directly across the aching mass under his eye, and the pain was intense. Erik, however, remained impassive. Instead, his mind wandered away from the situation, settling in a happier time. A distant part of his consciousness noted that the cut was not deep, but he cared not. He was leading Christine down the steps to his home for the first time, singing to her. He had no happier memories in his whole life.

He could feel the pain, and slowly began to react in small ways to allow the Marquis to believe his efforts were producing results. Various weapons made contact with his flesh, and burning agony plagued his body, but his soul did not flinch, remaining in the haven of his memory. He had no real memory of the events that followed, save some vague recollection of having been moved.

His mind returned only once Moreau spoke again. "That will be enough for now, I think. Leave him here."

One guard unbound him from the table, but Erik remained slumped against the hard surface, allowing his breathing to be harsh and ragged. The Marquis watched him, clearly pleased.

"Milord," one said. "Perhaps it would be best to return him to the girl. If you do not, she may grow defiant. Let it be a warning."

Moreau considered. "Your plan has merit, Giles. Take him to Miss Daaé and allow some water for his wounds. Watch them."

The mercenary, Giles, swung Erik's arm around his shoulder and lifted him. Erik winced at the movement, but cooperated since it meant reuniting with Christine. They shuffled slowly across the hall, and Erik rested his weight against the wall while the guard unlocked the door.

Christine, who had been sleeping, woke the instant she heard the key, and she barely stifled a scream when she saw them. "Erik! Dear Lord, are you all right?"

Giles shifted him onto a cot. "He is as well as could be expected. He is a strong man; no doubt he will recover swiftly."

Erik hesitantly caressed Christine's cheek. "It is not as terrible as it appears, Angel, I swear. In fact, I begin to suspect this man is attempting to aid us."

The guard started. "How?"

"I have learned a great deal of men's actions and their reasons, and you do not behave as a man that would typically take part in Moreau's schemes. However, before we discuss this further, would you be so kind as to fetch some warm water?"

The young man nodded slightly before racing from the cell. Christine ripped a length of cloth from her spare chemise and cautiously wiped the blood from his face. "Are you truly all right?"

He winced as she touched the disfiguration. "As the man said, I am as well as could be expected. Certainly I would be far worse if I had not taken precautions against it. Do not fret so, my Angel. It truly is not so awful as it seems."

"It must hurt terribly," she whispered as her careful touches removed enough blood to bare the marks. She hissed in a breath, but held steady. "These could become infected."

Giles barged back in, a bucket of steaming water in his hand. "It is certainly a good thing the Marquis indicated you are allowed the water, or I fear the wounds would go septic before you have a chance to recover." He also offered Christine a wad of clean rags.

"Thank you," she said quietly, "but why are you aiding us?"

"I am only here to protect my younger sister. She is but twelve, yet Moreau attempted to spirit her away. My family had no way to stop him, so I offered to work with him if he would spare her. I can do nothing obvious in aid of those here for fear of risking my sister, but I offer them what little I can. Your companion freed a great many tortured souls when he rescued you, Mademoiselle. I felt he deserved my help for his selflessness."

"We have to do something to make the Marquis think his torture succeeded," Erik said abruptly. "My wounds are not too serious, and I am not hindered by pain. If I should recover too quickly, we will be watched more closely than ever before."

"What do I do for your face?" she asked, still washing it with the warm water.

"My vest," he gestured. She passed it to him, and he removed a pair of vials. "Mix these into the water. They will guard against infection and dull the ache. Wash each injury with the solution."

She obediently emptied the medications into the bucket. "You cannot wear your white mask in this condition. It would only cause more pain."

"I am not worried about it," Erik assured her. "I have planned our next steps, if Monsieur Giles will swear not to betray us."

"I won't," he promised. "You have a chance at stopping this madman for good. I will help you as much as I may."

"Very well. In three days' time, Christine and I will truly attempt to escape. I ask only that you prepare some small amount of food and drink for us to carry."

"Erik!" Christine protested. "How can you intend to travel in three days, when you are already in pain? We can't try so soon!"

"We must," Erik corrected her. "Just as I have said before, timing is important. He will not expect anything so soon. To ease your fears, however, I will tell you that I shall be in far better condition in three days than I am currently."

"How?" she pressed.

He lifted a third vial from the hidden pocket of his vest. "I will drink this once you have treated my wounds. I will seem unconscious until the drug wears off, the morning of the third day. However, this potion does not only cause the user to sleep without waking. It also increases the body's rate of healing."

She took the tiny bottle from him and examined it. "What if it doesn't work?"

"It shall," he said gently as he retrieved it. "I made it myself, Angel, and I know how to use it."

Christine gasped in horror when she saw his fingers, taking in the deep slashes and bruising. "What happened to your hands?"

He lifted them and turned both to see more clearly, noting the damage to be far more extensive on his right hand. "I imagine Moreau sought to deprive me my ability to compose by destroying both playing and writing. Never fear; they will heal far better than he believes. I will be able to do both."

She began washing them carefully and wrapped them in the finest of the cloths available to avoid limiting his movement. "Help me remove his shirt," she rejoined Giles.

Giles levered Erik up while Christine removed the garment. Both winced when the gashes in his back were bared to their view. "A whip," he said quietly. "I doubt your Erik even realized."

She traced the ridges of old scars that were still visible under the new. "It's happened before. Erik?"

"Long ago," he said tiredly. "Please, Angel, I do not wish to discuss this now. I am very weary, and the pain is far greater than I should like. Clean them."

"Very well," she sighed, "but they will require bandaging." She carefully trickled some of the medicated water down his back and wiped the blood from the cuts. "I think this is the worst of it. Once I have cared for them, tell me if there is anything else."

"There isn't," he replied. "Moreau seems to have limited the damages to my face, my hands, and my back. Unless there is more that I simply have not become aware of yet?"

Giles shook his head. "That's all. I stopped him before he went further, since he had decided you were not as strong as you seemed to think. Your screams… were very convincing."

Christine's skin turned ashy at the reminder. "You frightened me terribly, Angel. Please don't do that to me again." She backed away after wrapping his torso in bandages, washing his blood from her fingers. "I've finished."

"Read the plans come morning," he urged her.

"I will," Christine promised. "Rest, Angel."

He opened the small vial and swallowed the whole. "I thank you for your assistance, Giles."

"I do not deserve thanks for the little I have done."

"Even a small amount of aid is aid we did not have before. I am grateful." Erik yawned thickly, and Christine took a seat on the cots as well.

She offered him a brave smile. "I'll see you in a few days, I suppose."

He ran his hand through her hair. "You will. I would not leave you here, Angel. We shall leave together."

He fell asleep with his head in her lap while she stroked his hair carefully. Giles left as quietly as he could, to report to the Marquis that the Opera Ghost had fallen unconscious though the girl believed him asleep.

88888888

AN: And that is that. How many people didn't see some of this coming? At least I'm not giving you a massive cliffhanger this time. Anyway, as usual, I adore your reviews and take whatever you've got. Questions, comments, concerns, suggestions, you name it. Till next time!


	8. Chapter 8

AN: New chapter! Luckily for you guys, this story seems to be going rather quickly now. My other readers aren't nearly so lucky, since I'm rather stuck on what's next for my Sailor Moon fic.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Surprise!

88888888

Two days Erik spent in the grips of the drug he had taken, not stirring. Christine made sure to seem distraught and worried whenever any other came to the cell, but she spent the rest of her time singing to him the same soothing lullabies that he had written for her as a child while she cared for his wounds. Giles came to encourage her once, but she didn't need it.

"I have faith in Erik," she assured him. "I know his plan will work."

"How long have you known him? He must care a great deal to have risked himself rescuing you the first time."

"Erik was my Angel of Music most of my life," Christine replied calmly. "He has always been there for me if I needed someone. He was the one that helped me when my father died and he never stopped."

"He loves you."

She bowed her head. "Yes, though I do not deserve that gift."

Giles did not press further, leaving a fresh bowl of warm water and bandages for them. She carefully washed and bandaged Erik's wounds once more, noting happily they showed signs of healing.

Moreau had ordered her to continue performing in the evenings, and she suffered some brutal treatment at the mercenaries' hands. Unlike previously, she was not permitted to sing only one song. She was instead forced to sing for hours, but she obeyed Erik's plans and sang without her heart. The Marquis made unkind comments regarding Erik, but Christine held her tongue, reminding herself all the while that it was not for much longer. She simply waited until she was returned to their cell, tended to her newest injuries, and returned to Erik's side.

He was peaceful while he slept, she decided the night before they were planning to escape, though she saw the expression rarely enough when he was awake. He had too many cares on his shoulders. Minding his instructions, she treated his eye carefully, dropping in the medicine that kept it from infection.

Finally satisfied he was continuing to improve, she settled on the cot with his head on her lap once more. She began humming as her fingers moved soothingly through his soft black hair, and her thoughts wandered back.

How had she left him? It had never been what she desired, but he had told her to leave, and she had. Why? He was mad, by his own admission, but he had always done his best to give her whatever she desired. He taught her everything. She had been so miserable without him.

…She loved him. She was _in _love with him. Was it strange that she was only realizing it now, after so long? Why couldn't she have understood sooner? It would have spared everyone so much pain. Raoul knew, she realized. He knew that she loved Erik, and all were brutally aware how much he loved her in return. Was that why he had gone to Erik for aid?

So many questions. Her head began to ache as they endlessly spun, dancers at a masquerade, and no way of knowing the answers behind the mask. Eventually she drifted to sleep, dreaming again of the past. 'Music of the Night' curled through her thoughts until there was nothing else.

88888888

Erik awakened refreshed, though still in some small amount of pain. The medicines had done their work, revitalizing and strengthening him. The sun's light against his face warmed his skin and indicated it to be late in the afternoon. He abruptly realized that his head was not lying on the cot as he had expected. He turned slowly and gazed directly into Christine's face. She was fast asleep, cradling his head on her lap. Her fingers were in his hair.

Erik tried to extract himself without waking her, but was unsuccessful. The instant he attempted to remove her hands from his hair, she started, and her wide brown eyes fluttered open.

"You're awake!" she exclaimed.

He nodded as she released him. "Yes, and I feel a great deal better now. Did I worry you, Angel?"

"No," she replied. "I paid attention to your plans and knew you would be well. Are you in pain?"

"Not much," he assured her, moving behind the screen to once more don his formal clothing. "Far less than Moreau would have anticipated. Is everything ready?"

"I believe so," Christine murmured, "but I remain unsure as to what song to use." He stepped out, and she gazed at him for support.

He considered. "It cannot, for obvious reasons, be a duet, but I have taught you a great many pieces, Christine. Surely there must be one which seems to fit."

"All I can think of…" she began, but stopped. "No."

Erik's lips quirked. "You were considering that enchanting tune you sang in the cemetery."

She glanced at him. "One would think your endless talents included mind reading."

He laughed. "I have wished for such an ability from time to time, but no. I simply know your mind very well, dear Angel. You long for your father, and as before, you would sing it while searching for freedom. If you are willing to share something so personal, it is an excellent choice."

"I don't know," she murmured, toying with the fabric of her gown. "It does seem rather private, does it not? Yet my heart says it is the best."

"You must follow your instincts, Angel. I will not argue your decision."

She nodded firmly, finally settled. "Then I shall sing that song. My father would be pleased that something meant for him gained our freedom."

Erik touched his cloak, but left it draped across the cots. "Giles will appear to retrieve our things before we vanish into the night, but still I would urge you to dress warmly, Christine. It will be difficult going."

"Very well," she answered, stepping behind the screen herself, changing to the gown she had been wearing when they were abducted.

He looked her over when she stepped out. "Your lack of proper footwear may prove a problem," he sighed. "In the midst of all else, I had forgotten you did not have boots or better shoes."

She glanced at her soft slippers with a sigh as well. They had been suitable for a quiet day in Erik's house on the lake, but not at all so for a fast escape. "I hope I do not slow you down too badly."

"Don't fret so, Angel," he reprimanded mildly. "Would you be so kind as to bandage my hands once more? I would prefer that Moreau not be given visual proof of my quick recovery."

She lifted the roll of thin linen bandages and took a seat on the cot, gesturing for him to join her. He did so and extended his hands to her. "I am glad they are healing so neatly."

"As am I, but he will not think me ready to escape when I seem to have limited use of my hands. I will gladly suffer that rather than arouse his suspicions."

Once the task was done, he leaned back against the wall, eyes hooded, as she set aside the medical supply. "Can I really…?"

"Yes, Christine, you can. Have I ever given you false impressions of your abilities?"

"No, but Erik, I'm so frightened. If I make a mistake… I would ruin everything."

He extended a hand, and she gladly took a place beside him, under his protective arm. "I would not encourage this if I thought you would be unsuccessful. I would have searched for a way to escape that would not place you at risk. Angel, you will not ruin a thing, but should I fear your control to be slipping, I will be there to assist you. Does that ease your mind?"

She nodded. "Thank you. I could never have survived this without you."

A faint sound came to his ears, and he took a deep breath. "Christine, a guard is coming. You must remember, I have newly regained consciousness and am not yet well."

"Of course," she replied, slipping from his arms to kneel in front of him, rag and bowl of water at her side. One hand rested against his knee as she dabbed the cloth against his distorted right side.

The door slammed open and the guard, one Erik recognized from their first night as Emil, stomped in. His expression upon seeing the prisoner awake once more was cruel and amused. "Nice to see the poor man is doing so much better," he jeered. "I thought you were stronger than that. Has your time as a ghost made you weak?"

Christine shot to her feet, enraged. "How can you be so cruel?! Can you not see he has been ill?"

Erik reached for her hand, and she moved to him once again. "Angel… no…"

The mercenary laughed again. "A woman, protecting the infamous Phantom of the Opera!"

Erik's eyes narrowed dangerously, but he held his tongue. Christine began to bathe the marks on his face once more, disgusted with the uncouth man.

"The Marquis demands your presence again at supper," Emil explained. "Both of you, since he's awake. I'll be back for you in an hour or so."

"He's not strong enough to move yet!"

"He'll have to be if he doesn't want another beating." The man departed with another bark of laughter, and Christine twisted the strip of cloth in her hands till Erik expected it to tear. She dropped to the cot once more, head in his lap as his had been when he awakened. He ran his hand over her hair comfortingly, automatically smoothing the riotous curls.

"He is a terrible, horrible man," she said through gritted teeth. "How can he have so little regard for others?"

Erik could only assume she truly meant Moreau. "Nobility is often raised to believe themselves above all others. With that, in addition to his unsettled mind, it is no surprise that he cares little for the fate of those around him. Angel, I am truly well enough for tonight."

"I know," she sighed, face obscured by her hair and position, but he could sense her frown. "I know you are, but still I worry our ruse will be discovered and you will be hurt again, and it would be my fault."

"Your worry for me is admirable, Christine, but you should not. Sleep, if you can. Tonight will be a very long night."

"Will you?" Christine asked, one slender hand curling into his vest. "Will you rest?"

"I am not even slightly weary, Angel. Surely you recall that I slept these past days. I will, however, remain by your side."

"Sing for me? 'Music of the Night', will you sing it for me?"

"Again?" said Erik, smiling faintly. "Of course I will, but do you not weary of hearing the same song so many times?"

"I haven't heard you sing for two long days," she murmured, embarrassed. "I love that song. Won't you sing it?"

"Yes, Angel. Now sleep."

Her breathing deepened and she turned to her side over the course of the song, baring her face to his sight.

_Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation._

She welcomed his touch, even sleeping, face upraised against his caressing palm. She trusted him so now, where once she had been frightened. Instead, he had been granted her faith. She heeded him much the same way she had before the Vicomte's appearance had torn their fragile relationship apart. His heart tripped lightly at the possibility of loving her as he desired once more, but he sternly forced the thought away. She had given no signs of altering her decision, and he would not expect her to at least until he had spoken of all that remained unsaid between them. He certainly would not do so in Moreau's brutal prison.

88888888

As he had said, Erik did not sleep in that brief hour, but had instead focused solely on Christine. The sun's light was leaving the tiny cell as he woke her.

"Christine, Angel, you must wake. We have only a little time left."

"Must I?" she muttered.

He bit back a laugh. "Yes, Angel, I'm afraid you must. We will be leaving tonight, remember? Would you sleep away our chance?"

She shook her head, sitting up. "No, of course not. I apologize."

"There is no need, Christine. You are nervous, no doubt. This is rather different than taking the stage for an opera."

She walked to the window and gazed out. "I wish I was still at the opera. It was far easier, even under your exacting tutelage."

"I was only ever exacting because I desired you to reach your full potential, Angel," he answered defensively.

"I know," she laughed softly. "Did I never thank you for that? I could never have been the prima donna without you."

"Your joy was thanks enough." Erik remained against the wall, unmoving, though he kept his eyes fixed on his companion.

The door seemed to jump open as not one, but two mercenaries entered the room. One, Erik recognized but could not name. The other was clearly the same as previously.

Emil glared at them, gesturing for his partner. "Let the man lean on you. I can watch the girl."

The man to aid Erik was broad, nearing mountainous, but offered a gentle hand to assist him to his feet. Erik took care not to move too easily and shared his weight with the larger man. "Thank you."

The guard didn't say anything and waited for further instructions, which Emil provided. "Get him to the hall, you fool. I'll be right with you."

Christine watched Erik's back worriedly, searching for any sign that he was not doing well, but it was difficult when he was continuing to act injured. His voice drifted to her ears, unheard by any other.

"Not too long ago, I used your words inadvertently. Now I will use my own once more, from the same night. _Seal my fate tonight, I hate to have to cut the fun short. But the joke's wearing thin, let the audience in._ Let our act begin, Angel."

She nearly laughed at his words, but thankfully caught herself as they entered the hall that she prayed she would never see after that night.

Moreau was not yet seated, staring instead out one of the vast bay windows. In lieu of his normal extravagant suits in unusual colors and fabrics, he was casually attired in loose black silk pajamas and a flowing dressing gown to match. "I had not intended to bring you here this evening, but word reached me that dear Erik has finally awakened. How are you, my friend?"

"As well as could be expected," he snapped, "no thanks to you. My hands? Can you truly be so cruel?" He sagged against his support, and the man silently assisted him to a chair.

"It was merely a lesson, my dear man, and no lasting damage was done, was it?"

"That has yet to be seen."

The Marquis waved him off, turning to Christine. "And you, Miss Daaé? Surely you are glad he has come to."

"Of course I am."

He seated himself at the head of the table and began reaching for a glass of wine. "Are you willing to sing this evening? Of course, I am aware you have been singing most of the day recently for Erik in his repose."

"Have I a choice?" she asked quietly.

"No, I should not think so. If you will sing for a man that cannot hear you, you can sing for me."

"Very well. Am I to decide the song, or are you?"

"Surprise me, young songbird. Perhaps you will know a piece I have not yet heard."

Christine closed her eyes and pooled her strength as her body automatically took a singer's pose. "_You were once my one companion, you were all that mattered. You were once a friend and father, then my world was shattered. Wishing you were somehow here again, wishing you were somehow near…_"

Her first notes had been feeble, but she steadied almost immediately and sang well. Erik watched with a critical eye, speaking softly to her a time or two in order to increase her confidence. Men were sinking to the ground around them, brought to sleep by the power of her words. One of the mercenaries remained aware and began to recognize what was occurring, but Erik was out of his chair and rendering the man unconscious before he could fully understand. At the completion of the song, none were awake.

Erik grasped Christine's arm and pulled her with him, running for the main entrance. Giles stood there, a small sack in his arms.

"Some bread, cheese, fruit and water," he said hurriedly as he passed the bundle to Erik. "Some small items you might find useful as well. Go quickly."

"Thank you," Christine whispered.

"Get to the hall," Erik ordered. "You must pretend to have been under the same spell as the rest of them. Whatever you can do to slow them when they awaken, do."

"Yes, of course," he replied, face set in grim lines. "Be careful."

"We shall. Thank you for your assistance, Monsieur, and good luck."

Erik led Christine into the deepening night and they vanished into the shadows. Giles watched for only a moment before hurrying to the grand hall.

88888888

AN: Hehe, leaving it like that is kind of mean, isn't it? But so fun. Please review, let me know what you think, especially now! Anything goes. Till next time!


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Okay, new chapter. Now for the seemingly becoming routine apology: I'm sorry for the delay in releasing chapters. With the number of stories I'm working on, I need to rotate through them or the readers for the others would never get updates. So again, sorry, but there's not much I can do. Also as usual, thank you again to my excellent beta, xXxMusexXx. You certainly make things go more smoothly.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

88888888

The dark was no impediment to Erik, who was accustomed to far worse than the night above. Christine, however, stumbled a number of times as she did her best to keep pace with him.

"Erik," she panted. "I can't see a thing."

"I know," he answered quietly, "but we cannot stop. Will you be able to go a while longer?"

"I can try, but I don't know how long I'll last."

He glanced back at her over his shoulder. "Tell me the instant you cannot. We must not delay, Angel."

She continued to follow, but the darkness was oppressive and she rapidly tired. "I can't, Erik!"

Without pausing, he scooped her into his arms and continued running. "Then I shall carry you."

"Your wounds!" she protested.

"They are not important. We must at least reach the cover of the woods before we are pursued. If we remain in the open, there will be no way to avoid capture."

"Will we be safe there?"

"Perhaps. Moreau does not keep hounds, but it is entirely possible that he will find some in order to find us. We must be swift," Erik explained.

She allowed him to continue in silence for the ten minutes it took to reach the edge of the trees. He was beginning to breathe heavily but seemed otherwise well. He set her on her feet and grasped her hand.

"Erik…" she whispered. "Will we truly make it to Paris?"

"You know I can make no guarantees, Christine," he said heavily. "I believe I can get us to Paris, but I do not know the extent to which we will be pursued. It will be a close-run race, I think. They have horses where we do not. I do not have any funds in my possession, so I cannot hope to purchase one, and there simply was not enough time to steal one of Moreau's."

Christine bit her lip as he led her deeper into the woods, crossing a small stream in their progress. Finally, after more than an hour's trek, he halted, turning to take in their surroundings.

"We shall rest here, Angel."

She looked around, but couldn't see anything. "Where are we?"

"A small clearing."

"Will Moreau not expect us to stop in such a place?" she asked.

"I imagine he would, but he would also think it likely we would rest on the ground. I do not intend to do so." He bent his knees, then sprang upward, catching a tree limb and pulling himself up. Once assured a secure place, he extended his hand to her.

She took it cautiously, and he hauled her to the branch at his side. "Surely we are still too low."

"We are," he agreed. "We must climb higher. As high as we safely can. Remain still until I find a place."

She wrapped her hands around the limb as he climbed quickly higher, and she nibbled her lip. It seemed so dangerous, to rest high in a tree for a night. He dropped once more.

"Is there a place?"

"Yes. The trees here are old and large. Higher up the branches of this tree cross with another to form a sort of platform. It should be sufficient for a rest. We can continue at dawn."

She looked up. "I don't know if I can make it."

"Climb on my back," he instructed. "I will be able to carry you."

She obeyed reluctantly. "Won't this hurt you?"

"You needn't worry, Angel. I can handle this."

He ensured she was holding on tightly before he began the climb, easily making his way up the branches. She could see more clearly now, she realized. The moon had risen and could be seen through a gap overhead. The space Erik had found seemed suitable enough, but still it was worrisome to have so little between them and a long drop.

"I'm afraid," she said quietly.

"Never fear, Christine," he said soothingly. "I won't let you fall. Come, sit with me. You must rest. No doubt you are rather exhausted."

She nodded. "I must have slowed you down terribly. I'm sorry."

Erik shook his head. "Your welfare is all I am concerned with. As long as we continue with caution, the pace should not prove a dilemma."

She sank down to a bough at his side, head against his shoulder. "I still worry that I move so slowly I put both of us in danger."

"Worrying will solve nothing. Rest, Angel. We are not safe yet."

She hummed for a moment, considering. "What song was that?"

"What?" he asked, closing his eyes. Though he wouldn't admit it to her, he was exhausted as well. Wounds and two days spent unmoving had not improved his strength.

"You sang a song I didn't recognize for Moreau, that night. What was it?"

He opened his eyes to glance at her curiously before retrieving his black mask and slipping it on. "I wrote it just a short time before your Vicomte appeared. I had hoped to one day use it as a way to present my feelings toward you."

"No one heard you?" Christine said, considering his words. "Surely you cannot have been completely alone all these years."

"I was not, I suppose, but you were the only one that heard the music as I did, and you were the only one that was there. Imagine, Christine. When you first came to the Populaire, you were newly orphaned, and very alone though Antoinette and little Meg were with you. You understood my loneliness because you felt it yourself."

"…Will you sing it for me?"

"I beg your pardon?" he frowned.

"Will you sing it for me?" she repeated. "That song. I was so worried for you that night that I did not listen very closely. You did say you wrote it for me."

"Most every piece of music I have written since you first came to the opera house has been for you. Why should you desire to hear one which I meant to show my love for you?"

She very slowly touched the side of his face, caressing the mask just above his curse. "Because I have always desired to hear your music, whatever it was for. I already know of your love for me. Why should it deter me? Despite our past, I do not fear you or your feelings. You do not have to hide, your face or your emotions. Once I was the only one that heard you. Now, I see you as well."

He stiffened under the gentle touch, and inhaled harshly at her words. "You play with fire, Christine. Do not tempt me now with what I lost."

Her lips tightened. "I am being unfair, I suppose. You do not have to sing for me if you do not wish to."

He took her hand. "I have always wished to sing for you, but I worry that it will not last and you will want me gone from your life once more. You do not have to love me, but I hope that you will not simply vanish once more when this is over."

"I won't," Christine promised sincerely. "It was a mistake to do so the first time. I hope you will someday forgive me for it."

"I never blamed you. I was quite mad when we last saw each other, Angel. It came as no surprise that you left. Heaven help me, but I have never been able to deprive you of whatever you desired. You wished to leave, so I allowed you to, though it nearly destroyed me to do so." Erik paused, drawing several deep breaths. "I know I have promised you answers, but I would still prefer not to give them here. Sleep. I will rouse you when the sun begins to rise."

A cold breeze blew through, and Christine shivered. "It's a touch cool."

"Winter approaches," Erik answered as he opened the bag they had been given. He was pleased to find his cloak inside, which he promptly draped around her. "No doubt snow will come within the next few weeks."

"Will we have reached Paris by then?"

"I do believe so. You mustn't worry now, Christine. You need to rest and regain your strength."

She turned more fully against him, bodies pressed close for the heat. "Thank you."

"Whatever for?"

"You risked yourself so much to free me, when you could have simply left on your own. I could not let it go without thanks."

Erik let the silence remain until he felt her begin to breathe more deeply as she slept. "It was always for you, Christine. Always and forever, I would do anything for you." He gently kissed her brow. "Sleep, Angel, and I shall do the same. I will not let you be taken again. I give you my solemn vow that you will not suffer so. I would die before I allow that."

88888888

"Wake up," he whispered urgently against her hair. "Quickly, Angel, please."

"What's wrong?" she asked around a yawn.

"Look below."

She did, and barely stifled a scream when she saw the men in the clearing. A group of five mounted mercenaries stood in a circle at the center, speaking among themselves.

"Quietly," Erik warned. "I would like to hear what they say. Don't be frightened, Christine. They cannot see us."

"Their tracks come this way," one said in frustration, "but then it seems they vanished. Is that man truly a ghost?"

"He is a man," the leader, Emil, contradicted firmly. "He must have hidden their path as they continued. No doubt by this time he has determined the way to Paris. We will continue in that direction to seek signs of them."

"Surely the girl is slowing him. They cannot have gone too far before they would want to rest."

"The man is wounded as well," recalled another. "Could they truly have gone further than this point?"

"Don't you understand?" Emil asked scathingly. "It was no fever-sleep that left him unconscious those two days. They had planned it between them. No doubt he simply rested to recover his strength and begin to heal."

"I wonder if it would be worth the odds to secure their horses," Erik murmured in a low tone.

"No!" Christine protested immediately. "Five against one? You're still injured, Erik. You mustn't take that risk."

He sighed, resigned. "If it worries you so, I will not."

"We might as well continue," the fourth grumbled. "There's no sign of them here."

The five spurred their horses and quickly absented the small clearing. Once satisfied they had gone far enough to not hear their movements, Erik assisted Christine down from their lofty perch. He passed her a piece of bread and canteen of water.

"You must eat something."

She frowned at it, but took the offering and nibbled the edges. "I'm not hungry."

"Regardless. It will be a strenuous exertion, and I will not have you weak for lack of food later," Erik said. He drew out a piece for himself and took a generous bite.

The bread was dry and somewhat stale, making it even more unappetizing to Christine. "Is there any fruit?"

He nodded and gestured to the bag. "There is some, yes, if that is what you would prefer."

She hurriedly extracted an apple from the bag and gratefully munched on the fruit which, unlike the bread, was fresh and tasty. Both ate quietly.

Satisfied, Erik brushed the stray crumbs from his clothes. "We should continue on. It is best to travel as far as we can while there is light."

"I suppose," she sighed.

88888888

It was a wild day. More than once, only Erik's quick reflexes and keen ears kept them from discovery. To give them a better chance, he carried her up into the trees and across them to avoid leaving a trail. By nightfall, Christine was exhausted and she vaguely resented Erik's endurance. Her feet felt as if she had walked through a fire, and her soft slippers had been all but shredded.

"Must we go further?" she asked desperately. "I'm so tired."

"I know, Angel," he soothed. "We will rest briefly, but I do wish to make further progress tonight."

She glanced at her long curls and grimaced. Leaves and branches were caught in the strands. She began methodically picking them out and tossing them aside. He raised one hand, stopping her.

"Hush," he commanded. "There is someone nearby."

Christine froze. "Moreau?"

Erik, still listening closely, shook his head. "No, it's…" His eyes widened behind the mask. "Antoinette?"

He was on his feet in a flash and lifted Christine to hers as well. "Antoinette? Madame Giry? Here?"

"I know it is difficult to believe, but it is her voice I heard. We must go quickly. Our pursuit may hear as well." He knelt before her. "Get on my back, Christine."

She didn't waste time arguing, simply did as he had told her. He was running through the trees in an instant, as silent and swift as a deer. She began to hear voices as well. Madame Giry's seemed to be there, as Erik said, but there were others. She recognized Meg's soft tones.

Erik skidded to a stop just in front of a horse, nearly causing it to rear until its rider calmed it. "Erik! Christine!"

"Madame," he said coolly. "Vicomte, Meg. We have no time to speak. We must all go, now."

"How?" Meg questioned, clearly curious as to how the two stood in front of her. "We were coming to find you."

"Ride with your mother," he ordered. "Christine must stay with me. We just escaped from Moreau last night. They have been searching for us since. No doubt the men will have heard you and are coming to investigate." When no one moved for several beats, Erik's temper shot up. "Now!"

Meg dropped from her mount and was seated behind her mother in a heartbeat, and Erik lifted Christine to the saddle before leaping on behind her. The Vicomte watched both of them in shock and worry.

"Are you all right?" he asked tentatively.

"Not now," Erik replied tersely. "Ride. We must lose them."

He kicked the horse's side, urging it forward. After a moment's hesitation, the others followed, turning back to Paris as quickly as they could.

88888888

AN: And that wraps up that. I heard a few people wonder if that was really it with Moreau. I promise, it's not. There's more to come, but we have some more personal issues to work out among our cast first. Anyway, as usual, please review! Whatever you have to say, please do! Till next time!


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Yay, another update! I'm sure you guys are glad to see it. But yeah, the usual: thanks to xXxMusexXx, my beta, for making sure I didn't screw anything up.

Disclaimer: Don't own. Duh.

88888888

They only paused to spare their mounts, riding through the night. Christine dozed from time to time, depending on Erik to keep her in the saddle. The other ladies, though less worn than Christine herself, began to grow weary as well. Still Erik remained firm; they had to continue.

They finally paused for a rest during the still darkness before the sun began to rise. Christine remained mounted while Meg and Madame Giry paced the tiny clearing that bordered the creek they had stopped by. Raoul and Erik tended to the horses.

"Is there any place we can reach that is closer than the city?" Erik asked softly. "I'm afraid I still have not ascertained our exact position."

"My family's estate is on this side of the city," the Vicomte answered. "We would be safe there."

"When might we reach it?"

Raoul turned to survey the sky. "I would think by dawn, at the pace we have been keeping. It cannot be more than another hour from here."

Erik glanced at Christine, who had finally slipped from the horse and splashing some water on her face. "It has already been a difficult ride. My instincts tell me still that there is more trouble approaching."

"The men pursuing you?"

"Perhaps so. It would be best if we moved on now. The horses have rested enough."

"Christine could ride with me for a time," Raoul offered.

"No," Erik said firmly. "I need to be with her. If what I suspect is true, and we are discovered, I might not be able to find her again if she was captured. I can only protect her if I am there."

"Very well," he acquiesced, disappointed. "I'll tell the Girys that we are ready to leave."

Erik nodded before striding once more to the gelding he had been riding. "Christine?"

She looked up at him from her position on the bank. "Yes?"

"It is time for us to continue, Angel. Are you ready?"

She sighed, but nodded. "I suppose so. When will we be able to stop running, Erik? Surely we cannot continue like this forever."

"The boy says the de Chagny estate is near. It will prove a safe haven. We should reach it within the hour."

Christine reluctantly allowed him to lift her to the saddle. "You're sure? We'll be safe soon?"

"You know I cannot guarantee anything," Erik reminded. "There are still men on our trail. We must reach the estate before they reach us."

So they rode again. Erik would occasionally pause and eliminate portions of their tracks. The first seams of light began to pierce the eastern horizon, and Christine began to wonder if she would ever want to ride a horse again.

Erik abruptly reined in their mount, eyes narrowed as he examined their surroundings. "Trouble."

"Where?" Raoul demanded, drawing his sword.

"To the south and west. At least five horses."

Madame Giry opened a saddle bag and tossed him a coiled rope. "I had thought that if we found you, you might like to have this, since you do not seem to have one already."

Uncoiling it, Erik discovered a Punjab lasso. "Indeed so. Thank you. Madame, kindly take your horse behind the Vicomte and myself." He deftly lifted Christine and placed her behind him. "There is a possibility that they will aim to kill. I would prefer to have you behind me, out of direct danger."

Raoul urged his mount forward, taking a position a few meters from Erik. "Surely they would still wish to capture you and Christine."

"Perhaps, but they must have realized by now how dangerous I can be. There can be no certainty. They are still attempting to sneak up on us."

"My estate is less than a kilometer away. Can we not try to outrun them?"

"Doing so makes us targets. It is best to take a stand now rather than reveal precisely where we are going."

"Very well," the Vicomte agreed.

Meg unsheathed a sword that neither man had known she carried. "I can fight as well."

"My dear," Madame Giry censored a touch desperately, "surely it is best to leave such things to those who know how."

"I do know how, _Maman_," Meg replied. "I can help them." She jumped from their horse to stand between Erik and Raoul.

Madame began to protest, but Erik spoke before she could. "Enough, Antoinette. Your daughter is old enough to decide for herself, and she fights well." He turned to the young blonde. "Surely you must realize that being on foot gives you a disadvantage."

"Perhaps," she responded, "but I am quick. I think I will manage."

"Meg, no," Christine whispered.

Meg glanced at her friend. "I want to protect you too. I don't want you to be taken away again."

"Quiet," Erik commanded before Christine could answer. "They are drawing nearer, hoping to catch us unawares. We must react swiftly. Angel, hold on as tightly as you can. Do not allow yourself to be taken."

She nodded, wrapping her arms firmly around his waist. He took the reins with one hand, Punjab dangling from the other.

One second, there was nothing. The next, seven horsemen spurred into view, weapons in hand. Erik's lasso flew in a heartbeat, taking one from his horse and applying precisely the right amount of pressure to render him unconscious. Raoul disarmed another a moment later before striking him in the face, dropping him beside his comrade. Meg danced between the horses, neatly unseating the riders.

Unknown to the combatants, there was still another foe, approaching from behind, eyes intent on the vulnerable Christine. Even as he reached for her, she turned and screamed, drawing a dagger from a hidden pocket on instinct and plunging it into her hooded assailant's gut. He fell to the ground and the Punjab lasso snapped out, knocking him out as well.

The Vicomte disabled the final enemy and turned, surveying the battlefield. All still lived, friend and foe. Erik dismounted and knelt by one's side, checking their pulse. One by one, he made his way through the unconscious men before he stopped by the one that had tried to snatch Christine away.

"A stomach wound," he murmured. "A painful way to end one's life."

The man, whom he recognized as Emil as he brushed back the hood, blinked slowly as he woke before moaning in agony. "End it. Please."

"Why should I show compassion?" Erik asked coldly. "You have done many terrible things, to myself and Miss Daaé. No doubt there are countless others."

Emil coughed harshly. "People do terrible things. You are no different. Can you not show mercy to one that has no other request?"

Erik sighed, closing his eyes. _Why do you curse mercy?_ "I have done many things I regret. I suppose it will not matter if I add one more death." He drew a dagger from his boot and with surgical precision embedded it in his heart. "May whatever lays beyond teach you the kindness you did not have in life."

Raoul, who had watched silently, now spoke. "We should bind the others. I have rope that we might use."

"Angel?" Erik said, ignoring the Vicomte. "Angel, are you all right?"

Christine, trembling violently, shook her head. "What have I done?"

He closed his eyes once more. "Tie them up," he ordered before stepping closer to their horse. He reached into his vest and withdrew yet another vial, removing the cork with a quick twist. "Drink it."

She shook her head mutely, still shaking until Erik feared she would fall from the saddle.

"_Maman_, what happened?" Meg asked quietly. Her mother didn't respond.

"Drink it, Christine," Erik snapped. "You have said that you trust me. Will you not follow a simple command? Drink it."

She took the tiny bottle with unsteady hands and swallowed the concoction. A moment later, she sagged against the horse's neck.

"What did you give her?" Raoul demanded.

Erik swung to the saddle. "It is merely a sleeping draught, though a potent one. It will not harm her."

"It took effect very quickly," Madame observed softly as Meg leapt up behind her.

"Christine has eaten little and is not as large as most. We should get her to a bed. I only pray that she will not remember this when she awakens."

88888888

Erik doubted he had ever seen a more welcoming sight than that of the manor in the center of the de Chagny estate. Christine remained limp in his arms and doubtless would remain asleep for some hours yet.

Raoul peremptorily summoned stable boys to care for the horses while guiding the others to the spacious manor. Erik carried Christine. "Is there an available room for her?"

"Yes, of course," the Vicomte responded. "We have several guest rooms on this level."

"So I recall. Might one be prepared?"

He called for the butler, who led both men to a quiet room painted to look like a sunrise. Erik dismissed him as soon as they opened the door and strode to the bed, settling Christine under the quilt.

"How is she?"

"As well as might be expected. She will sleep for some hours yet." Erik pulled a chair close to the edge of the bed and sank down.

"Perhaps… we might be able to talk?"

"Certainly, once she has woken, though she may be distraught and disoriented," he replied coolly.

"No, not Christine and I," Raoul sighed. "There are a few things I wish to discuss with you."

"I?"

"Yes. I suppose one could say there is unfinished business."

"I had thought whatever business we had was concluded by now."

"What about the Populaire? You cannot hope to finance the theater's running costs solely with your funds."

"I assure you, I have ample money to do as I please. The Populaire will be grander than ever before."

The Vicomte stifled an aggravated sigh. "We need to talk. Do you find me so abhorrent that you cannot?"

"I was rather under the impression that I was the one you found abhorrent, but as you insist, I suppose I shall oblige. I suggest, however, that we do so in a different room."

"It might be wise to make sure none of Moreau's men make an appearance."

"Indeed so. There are, I believe, thirty-eight points of access to this manor. Are there sufficient men here to cover each?"

"Yes. I employed a number of guards after you and Christine were taken, with the intent that they would assist when we discovered your location. All are currently on the property."

"Then I suggest you set one at each minor point and two at the major entrances. However, I do not think Moreau will make an attempt so soon. We should be safe for the time being."

"I'll see it taken care of immediately. You will not mind waiting?"

Erik frowned. "I had intended to get some sleep, yet you insist we speak. What do you suggest I do in the interim?"

"You might like me to care for your wounds, Erik," Madame Giry said from the door. "They must be paining you."

The Vicomte looked at him, shocked. "Wounds? You were hurt in the fight?"

"No, I was not. I was wounded several days ago, by Moreau's hand. Christine and I escaped two days later. I will gladly accept your assistance, Antoinette, if you are willing. Surely, though, you must wish to rest as well."

She smiled slightly. "You must know by now that I cannot rest until I am assured my children are well. You are my brother, though not in blood, but you seem my son at times as well, and right now you need a mother's aid. Come along. We shall see to them."

"Very well," said Erik.

"Where precisely were you injured?" she questioned.

"My back, my hands, and my face."

She glanced to his hands, seeing the bandages for the first time. "I am sorry I did not see it sooner. Are they healing well?"

"I believe so, though I have not had the time to tend them since we escaped." The three stepped from Christine's chamber. Raoul turned in one direction while Madame Giry led her adoptive brother in the other. "Christine was so kind as to clean them after I was injured."

"What happened?" She saw his hesitation, but pressed the question. "Surely you know you can trust me."

"Do you still doubt my trust in you? I simply fear you will not like the tale," Erik explained as she led them to a quiet sitting room. Meg appeared for a moment with a medicine case and a bowl of hot water, but her mother ordered her to rest.

"There is no doubt that I shall not," Madame replied, "for it involves harm to those I hold dear, but still I think I should know. Why were you beaten?"

Erik softly related the events since they had last seen each other as she cared for his hands, from the instant he awoke in the small cell to the time when they had crossed paths in the wood. "Of course, you know what occurred since Christine and I rejoined you and the others."

"I do." Antoinette's lips were pressed in a thin line. "It was a foolish risk to take, Erik. You could have been killed."

It took but a moment for him to realize what she referred to. "I was under the most suspicion of the two of us. Creating a false attempt assured the success of the true one by hiding Christine's part."

"You could very well have succeeded the first time, without involving her."

He shook his head. "Suspicion weakens the influence I can wield, and so too was I inhibited by other things. As a rule, the men were more susceptible to a woman, Christine. She could temper their natural inclinations for a longer time than I. Perhaps it might have worked for me, but we would have had much less time in which to reach cover. I do not think we would have successfully evaded them, and I would not risk her in an ill-favored escape."

"Perhaps you may be right, as I do not understand these things, but you put yourself in terrible danger." Once she completed wrapping the fine bandages across his hands, she turned her attention to his other wounds. "Your shirt, please. No doubt hearing your torture frightened Christine a great deal."

"I was not as badly affected as it would have seemed, and she did very well caring for me when I was returned to our cell. I told her the truth of the incident. By creating the false attempt, I also uncovered an ally within Moreau's ranks. Overall, I would have to say that I made the correct choice." He quickly stripped off jacket and vest.

Madame Giry drew a hissing breath. "You have bled through your bandages, it seems. I do not think this shirt can be cleaned."

"It is of no consequence," he said calmly as he removed that as well. "You know as well as I that I have a number more."

"In your homes, perhaps, but we are not there, Erik, and we should not leave this place for a few days yet."

"Then I will simply request a replacement from the boy."

She sighed and carefully cut away the blood soaked wraps with a small knife. "Your hands may be healing well, but these will require careful attention. Some are quite deep."

"Yes, I am aware," Erik replied. "Do any require stitching?"

"I could not hope to say until some of the blood has been washed away. This must have been very painful."

"I was only vaguely aware of their occurrence, and I have blocked the pain from my mind since. I could not have freed Christine and myself if I had not."

Madame let out another sigh. "I appreciate what you've done for her, of course, but Erik, you could be setting yourself up for heartbreak."

He smiled tiredly. "I know. Every moment I spent with her reminded me again of how much I loved her. I can be content, though, with her friendship. I want her happiness above all else, and I made the mistake of jeopardizing that before. I will not do so a second time."

"The sentiment is admirable," the Vicomte said as he entered the room. "I hope I am strong enough for the same."

Erik's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

He looked away. "It is one of things I had wanted to discuss with you. I will wait until we might have some privacy first."

Madame glanced up from the wounds she had been washing. "Erik, relax. You must remain still or I may hurt you further."

He slowly forced his muscles to leave their tensed positions. "I apologize, Antoinette."

"There is no need," she assured him. "None need stitched, but you will have more scars."

"I doubt it will matter, given the number already there."

She quickly dabbed a healing salve on the worst of the cuts before wrapping his torso in thicker bandages than his hands. "You are lucky that you heal well and quickly. If you did not, these might have become infected. The rough conditions you suffered certainly were not to your aid."

"I have suffered far worse. You worry too much."

"How did you get the other scars?" Raoul asked tentatively.

Erik lifted one brow, though the movement was obscured by the black mask. "I am surprised you would ask, Monsieur le Vicomte."

The younger man sighed. "I have misjudged you in the past. I suppose in a way I am curious as to how you might have suffered for things beyond your control."

Erik chose to answer the question, albeit reluctantly. "I spent approximately four years in a cage to serve as a gypsies' side show attraction, Monsieur. Madame Giry told you already of this. Did you think that the beating she spoke of had been the only one? There were worse earlier, before I learned to offer less resistance."

"That's enough," Madame cut in. "Erik, I need to see your face. Your mask?"

He glanced warily at Raoul. "Surely I might care for it on my own."

"My dear, you mustn't be so hesitant," she censored. "The wounds must be cared for, and I shall not allow Monsieur le Vicomte see." She seated herself before him and carefully lifted away the protective covering.

Erik remained very still as his sister began to wash the cuts, not wishing to inflict further pain upon himself. Of all his wounds, it was those on his face that gave him the most trouble, due to the tenderness in his cheek. He wondered as he had many times what it must have been like to live without the pain he constantly suffered for the weight that pulled at his eye.

"What happened since you were kidnapped?" Raoul asked after a moment's silence.

To spare Erik, Madame Giry ran through the tale as he had told it to her, holding his head steady while she worked. The Vicomte listened quietly, asking questions only a few times. When the story was done, Madame Giry soaked a thin pad of gauze in a diluted salve and placed it against Erik's cheek, securing it with the black mask. "You shan't be able to wear your white mask for a few days yet," she told him. "Will it be well enough as it is?"

He nodded. "I have gone longer without it, though I imagine it will pain me before I might wear it again."

"I'll allow you to speak with each other," she murmured, brushing out of the room.

Erik paced to the window, aware of the Vicomte's presence yet unwilling to initiate the conversation. He could sense the other man's observation, but preferred to stare out. Finally, his patience wore thin, and he stalked to a chair, dropping into it as his exhaustion bore down upon him as well. "You wanted to speak with me. Speak."

88888888

AN: Who's curious? My beta's already annoyed with the cliffhanger. Don't worry, I plan on writing more tonight, but I still can't say for sure how long it'll be till I update again, as I have other stories to work on as well. Still, please review! Questions, comments, concerns, suggestions, etc, you know the drill. Till next time!


	11. Chapter 11

AN: Wow, it's been way too long since I've updated this. I'm very, very, very, very (could go on like this for some time) very sorry. With the number of things I'm writing at once, it's been difficult for me to focus on one well enough to finish an entire chapter. However, I have finally finished this one. Note to those reading: most of this chapter will just be an explanation of Erik's past. Primarily based on the things I know of the books, but changed to suit my goals. You might want to read it for those changes, but if you already know his past you could probably make due well enough with that knowledge. Thanks as usual to xXxMusexXx for beta-ing.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

88888888

"A servant could find a shirt for you, if you'd like."

"Yes, yes, that would be nice. Get to the point. You didn't want privacy to discuss my apparel."

Raoul shook his head. "You're right. I wanted to talk about Christine."

"I have already said that she will sleep for some time yet and was not harmed while we were captives. Is there something I neglected to mention?" asked Erik stiffly.

"That's not it either. I'm not a complete fool," the Vicomte said with faint heat. "I know you heard what I said to Madame Giry as she led me to you that day."

Erik's hands clenched, then relaxed. "Do not dismiss your foolishness so easily, boy. You still are in many things."

"But I'm right. You heard what I said."

He nodded. "I heard what you said. What of it?"

"What of it?" Raoul repeated. "Does it not interest you? Have you lost your love for her, when I just heard you speak of it a matter of minutes ago?"

"I could no sooner lose my love for my angel than I could dance in the clouds. You would never understand what Christine means to me." Erik's eyes fell to the carpet as his mind wandered through the many dreams he had once known. "I love her with everything I am, and more. She could have anything she wanted if she but asked, but she doesn't ask for anything… and I love her all the more for it. She is everything to me, boy, and you had best make her happy."

"I cannot. I can try, and maybe, eventually, we might be content… but she would never truly be happy."

Erik's gaze lifted in consternation. "I don't understand."

"That is quite unusual, isn't it?" the younger man asked. "You've a brilliant mind, and you've grown accustomed to the knowing of things. But no, I suppose this would be something you would not know. She does not love me. Not as she should. Not as she says."

"She chose you," Erik said slowly. "In the end, you were what she wanted."

"I made her feel safe. I was never what she wanted."

"And still you took her away, abandoning me to madness and heartache. I think she would have stayed, if what you say is true."

Raoul sank into a seat himself. "If I had not said what I did, I think she would have. I do not know if even she has the answers yet."

"What you said?"

"Say you love him and my life is over. We made the choice rather impossible, did we not? She kissed you. If she had not truly desired that, I do not think she would have."

"Is this all you wished to discuss? If so, I have no desire to continue." Erik all but leapt to his feet, returning to the window. His fingers tightened ominously against the wooden sill. "You are more a fool than you may know. Do you know the temptation your words create? All the things you say give hope, hope which I cannot harbor. It would be easy to kill you and take Christine for myself. In my madness, I nearly did. I cannot do so now."

"I do not think you would find it as easy as you say," Raoul said quietly, rising as well. "You would have done so then if your words were true. I do not think you would hurt her so. You love her."

"I have admitted I love her before. You need not remind me." Erik rounded on him. "I may never forgive you for what you have taken from me. The one thing I needed, while you have lived a life of luxury. Do you feel the need to gloat? To laugh that the monster lost, as the story goes?"

"Do you see yourself that way?"

He turned away once more. "Is there anything else to see? I have been called such things for a very long time. My own mother could not stand the sight of me. The wounds I suffer physically for my imperfection matter little. It is those to the heart that cause true pain. So few have accepted me as I am."

"Christine."

Erik nodded. "Christine. Antoinette and little Meg, as well, though they are my family in all but blood. I should not be surprised to learn that the family I was born to believes me dead. After all, my parents had another son while I lived in the darkness under the opera. Why should their first child matter when the second was not flawed?"

Raoul sighed. "It will do no good for us to speak now. You must be weary. The butler will have made up a room for you."

He shook his head. "I will remain with Christine. I have no way to know precisely how long the potion will hold her, and she will need someone near when she awakens."

"A servant might sit with her."

"No servant would know how to help her. Does my staying with her bother you?" Erik asked with exhausted amusement, facing the Vicomte. The emotional weight was apparent in his eyes, even through the mask. "I had intended to rest in the chair."

"I suppose it does, to some extent. But she will need you, as she always has. Stay with her, then. I will have one of the maids bring clothing for you."

Erik cared too little to linger, instead quickly returning to Christine's chamber as the Vicomte dealt with the servants. He moved the winged chair to the bedside and closed the curtains before sinking down. He took her hand in his.

"The Vicomte is a fool, Angel, tempting me with what I cannot have. Yet I suppose he is a lucky fool, to have your love."

88888888

Christine woke slowly, stretching against the comfortable bed, enjoying the luxury. It had been too long since she last had been able to rest in a true bed rather than a small cot. That thought had barely crossed her mind when her memory caught up. Images of the man, the knife in her hand, the blood. A strange cross between a whimper, a scream, and a sob passed through her lips and she cowered in the midst of the covers as tears rolled down her cheeks.

The sound woke Erik without the usual instant reaction. His body too felt worn from their difficult time and was reluctant to awaken, begging to sleep longer. His mind, however, recognized the importance of the noise and quickly brought him to focus. His eyes cracked and noticed immediately that Christine was awake, and upset.

He cursed the pain that had finally settled and slowed his movements as he went to her side. "Angel. Christine."

She turned to him, crying in his lap as a child might. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his trousers.

"Angel, please. Tell me what is bothering you."

"I… killed him…" she managed through heavy tears. "I killed him…"

His lips tightened into a scowl, but he purposely kept it from his tone. "No, Christine, you didn't."

"I… did…" Christine wept. "The knife… the blood…"

'Let her have her tears,' he thought tiredly. 'She has reason enough for them.' He could reason with her when they ran dry. He let his fingers caress her hair as he held her, reminding her she was not alone. It took time, nearly an hour to his figuring, but she began to quiet.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, words uneven and raw.

"There is no need to apologize," said Erik in a gentle voice. "You are always free to express your sadness to me."

"I killed him," she stated dully. "He was there, and I somehow remembered the dagger you gave me. I killed him."

He shifted them so that they were lying next to one another, his arms remaining around her in comfort. "You did not. You are not at fault, Christine. You cannot blame yourself for his death."

"Then who?" she asked. "He would have died from that wound."

"Yet you did not kill him. It was my hand that struck the final blow, Angel."

"But he still would have died."

"If he had remained there, untended, yes," Erik agreed. "I might have been able to save him, had I the inclination, but even then I could not have made guarantees. My medical knowledge is rather extensive, but his injury may well have killed him before there was a chance. You cannot be blamed for protecting yourself, Christine, and it was not just you that was saved by your actions. He might have been able to strike me from behind. I would have died if you had not acted as you did."

"You're trying to convince me what I did was right. It wasn't. I took a life, Erik. How can I forgive myself for that?" Christine beseeched. "I understand what you've said, but I cannot believe it is ever right to take a life."

He averted his eyes. "When one kills to save oneself, or another, is it wrong? Is it wrong to defend what you care for? Angel, the world is not simple. There is not just black and white, where something is clearly defined as one or the other. Grey shades exist. I placed a dagger in his heart to spare him the pain of the death that was waiting. Was that wrong? Is it wrong to end another's suffering?"

"The Ten Commandments say not to kill. I did not obey."

"Perhaps so, yet the Bible speaks also of protecting those who are in danger and caring for others. You did not intentionally strike a fatal blow, Christine. You did not intend for him to die. You acted merely to spare yourself and others. Is there evil in that?"

Christine's mind raced, trying to understand both his words and the events that had caused them. "We are not simply speaking of what I did. Erik, I did not mean to condemn you!"

Erik sighed. "I know, Angel. I understand. Your heart aches for what occurred, though it truly is no fault of yours. Perhaps now, though, is the time for honesty. I told you before that I would someday tell you everything, did I not? I suspect that you are ready now. I only hope you will understand.

"You know to some extent, I believe, the kind of life I have led. No doubt Antoinette told you the little she knows, that she rescued me from a gypsy show all those years ago. In a way, that is only part of the trials I have faced.

"My parents were young when they wed, unwillingly, and I was born just under a year later. I was imperfect, not the son they had imagined to be their heir. I rarely saw my father. You might remember one of the things I told you, that my mother feared and loathed me. She avoided me as often as she might, and I wore always a mask. Eventually, it became too much for a child to bear."

Christine touched his face gently. "It is sad when others refuse to see beyond the surface. They must have hurt you terribly." He was relieved that her disquiet seemed to have faded in the telling.

"They did. I was eight years old when I ran away, taking what little coin I had. However, I quickly realized that though I was not happy in my home, I had no experience with which I might survive in the outside world. I had begun the trek back, thinking an unhappy home better than life on the streets, when I ran into a troupe of gypsies.

"Literally, to my misfortune. The impact knocked away my mask. The gypsies ran a circus of sorts, though I suppose freak show might be a more accurate description. They thought I would make them money. I was strong and tall for my age, but I was outnumbered and still far smaller and weaker than my assailants. I was knocked unconscious.

"When I awakened once more, I was in that cage, used as an amusement in their fair. The Devil's Child. I realized quickly that though they had not yet asked, they would want to know my name, and telling them I was a nobleman's son would not bode well for me. I fabricated a new name for myself, a false last name though I continued the use of my Christian name. They finally deigned to ask two days later. I told them I was called Erik Destler. I have used that name since, and have never chosen to reveal my birth name."

"Not even to Madame Giry?" Christine asked.

"Not even to Antoinette," he confirmed. "I have been Erik Destler since. No doubt my parents are unaware that I live, after so many years. They must think me dead."

She nodded. "And Madame rescued you. How long were you trapped?"

He considered. "Four years, I believe. I was about twelve when Antoinette first came to the circus. The man that kept me trapped beat me, and tore away the sack I wore in place of a proper mask. I saw sympathy in her eyes that day, rather than fear or amusement. I couldn't stay a moment longer. I strangled my jailor. Antoinette had paused just outside rather than leave. She turned and saw what happened. She hid me away as the police searched."

"But why?" Christine demanded. "Why would the police come for you? You only defended yourself from a cruel man that beat a child. No one else was helping you. What else could you have done?!"

Erik smiled faintly. "I had killed a man. Yes, I was compelled to do so, to save my own life, but the _gendarme_ would have thought me a vicious killer for my face alone. I would have been condemned and hanged. Does this story not speak to you of another?"

"You think it's the same? You were a frightened child that had no other way to escape."

"And what other way did you have?" he pressed gently. "What other choice did you have? To quietly forfeit your life or freedom? To let myself and the others suffer? You were given no time to think, merely to react. By doing so, you saved us. You cannot be blamed for that."

Her head bowed until the crown was pressed against his chest. "Maybe," she whispered. "You might be right, but it's so hard…"

"It was no easier when first I took a life, Christine. Some will say that I never paid for the crime I committed. Yet how did I not? I spent years hiding in the darkness, seeing no one but Antoinette. I was a child deprived of those things children might enjoy. I was alone."

"Then what?" she finally asked, once more drawn in by the answers she had desired for so long.

"The child became a young man," Erik explained. "A sad, lonely young man. There was no light in my life, nothing to give me a purpose beyond the music or my other gifts. Yet these things were still no comfort, because there was no one with which I could share them. I remained suspended in the darkness of the caverns, as if frozen in time. Yet the world continued while I remained confined. It seemed I had changed one prison for another, though Antoinette would never intend to trap me. She met a man and fell in love. They married, and she left the opera. The only person I had was gone. I couldn't stay.

"In the depths of night, I crept from the depths of the Populaire, taking little with me. I had little to begin with, the few things Antoinette could afford to give me. I left Paris, and began to travel. I gained money by selling designs, art, whatever garnered interest. A kind mason I encountered in Italy paid me well for my work. I used that to continue on my way.

"Eventually I came to Persia." He stopped, gazed at her meaningfully. "Angel, this tale becomes more sorrowful now than ever before. I need to know that you really want to hear this, or I will simply resume the narrative at the time when you appeared in my dark world."

Christine smiled tentatively. "I asked for the truth. I need to hear it all, good or bad."

He blew out a breath. "Very well. I only hope you do not hate me when it is done. Persia. I had gained moderate wealth by this time, and my various talents came to the attention of the Shah. He and his mother commissioned my work. Their order? A palace of torture."

She tried to stifle her gasp, but his pause clearly indicated he had heard. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

His eyes closed, but he pushed on. "One does not survive defying the Shah or the Khanum. To spare my miserable life, I did as they ordered. In retrospect, I have to wonder if it would have been best had I refused. I built their hell. They were yet to be satisfied.

"I was ordered to work as an assassin. In my wanderings, I had taken the time to hone the skills in swordplay I had begun as a child, and I took the opportunity as well to learn other weapons. I very quickly gained immense talent with the Punjab lasso. The Khanum had learned of this and wished to see it. I fought them on this, and paid the price. I was tortured in the place I had built. In the end, I had little choice but to give in."

"Erik, no," she wept against his shirt. "You didn't."

Erik sighed. "I had no choice. You cannot understand the torture I suffered. The wounds Moreau bestowed upon me? Child's play, to them. My mind and body were pushed to the very brink. There was physical assault. Drugs. I was nearly dead from these things when I did. Yet in some mysterious way, my intelligence had survived. I pretended to heed them. Instead, I began to work quietly against them. There was no choice but for me to pretend to serve the Shah, however. Nothing would have been accomplished save my death if I had not."

"What did you do?" she whispered, so afraid of the answer.

"I took the orders, and I went to that man's home once I had healed and regained my strength through a friend's care. I refused, however, to be a coward. I would not simply kill him in the night. He would be given a fair chance. I woke him, and we moved to his front room to speak while his family slumbered.

"I spoke to him frankly, explaining that the Khanum wanted him dead and that I had been sent to see it done. He was frightened, and moved to attack, but I stopped him. I had to ask him what that would accomplish, except to send other, more vindictive assassins after him, and his family as well. I offered a choice. A quick, painless death, a chance to stand against them, or to run, with the risks it carried.

"He spoke of the risk I took with my own life by doing so. I could only say that there was nothing left for me to lose, but that I could try to help others with what little I had. I told him that I didn't want to have to kill his wife, or his young daughter. I desired no deaths, but I would not make the choice.

"Then why offer to kill him, he demanded. Why would I be willing to take his life if I didn't want to kill. I had no answer. Though religion had been lost to me after my capture, my heart still rebelled against murder. It took so long for me to find an answer. I had already killed once, I finally said. I would not burden another soul with murder when mine was already marred.

"He chose, in the end, to give his life to save his family. I killed him as painlessly and quietly as I could, in a way that would leave his family only grief rather than guilt. They never knew that his death was any more than the natural way of things.

"This continued. There were rare occurrences when the target would choose to reject my offer. Instead, I would attempt to allow them to escape, but I was limited in my actions by the Shah's constant attentions. I was trapped."

"Why are you always trapped?" Christine wondered. "You haven't done anything to deserve it, but you always seem to be bound in darkness by those things you could not control."

"I do not know," Erik answered. "Perhaps that is simply the hand Fate dealt. Perhaps the sin of my face will haunt me for all eternity. I cannot guess the reasons of the universe's workings. Shall I continue, or would you rather I move past this?"

She shook her head. "Continue. I need to hear all of this."

"The time came when I could not help any longer. I had been caught assisting a target and his family in escaping. Through serendipitous circumstance, they were still able to flee. I hope still that they survived. I was to be killed." She whimpered softly, and he caressed her hair gently. "Clearly, I was not. I spoke before of the friend that returned me to health when I was freed of the Khanum's torture. He moved in my aid again. His name was Nadir Khan, and he was the Daroga- the Persian chief of police. He freed me and made it seem that I had died. The ruse held long enough for him to smuggle me from the country. In the end, he was discovered, but he was spared harsh punishment for his long years of service. He merely was sentenced a few years of prison.

"I fled, retracing the steps I had taken some years before to return to Paris, and the Populaire. I arrived at a felicitous time. The opera house was to be redone. I contacted the architect responsible for the job and offered my designs for his use. I was paid handsomely and used that time in which the Populaire was in constant disarray to construct my home below. I had no further desire to wander the world beyond. Perhaps the Populaire was a prison to me as well, but it was at least one I had chosen for myself, where I was spared torture and humiliation. When it was done, I retreated below, ready to remain isolated for the rest of my years."

"It's so sad," Christine sighed. "Everything you did left you alone. Did you ever wish for something else?"

"Always," he replied quietly. "Always. I yearned for the beautiful things I had seen in my wanderings, before darkness had once again clouded my world. For the first time in my life, I had seen love, kindness, and the finer qualities that humanity possesses and yet never extends to me. While Antoinette had shown me these things, I had been able to see her only rarely, and so they never quite registered. I wanted them for myself, but I had grown oh so weary of torment. Solitude was kinder.

"One can only imagine my surprise when a man wandered into my quiet world. Monsieur Lefevre had heard rumors of mysterious noises beneath the Populaire and wished to know the cause. My first instinct was to protect myself, and this secret place of safety that I had finally achieved. However, his words caught my mind.

"He meant no harm, he told me. Antoinette had spoken of me to him just as she left, but I had been gone when he came searching. The rumors had led him to suspect my return, so he came to see if I required anything. With time, I relaxed, and I allowed him to see the world I had created. He admired my work a great deal and offered me a position within the Populaire.

"When the new managers took control of the Populaire, they disdained paying my salary as blackmail, though in fact it never was. Lefevre paid me for music, set design, costume work, stage instructions, whatever useful things I could produce. I was also charged to watch over the Populaire's people, to protect them if need be.

"My shock was compounded when Antoinette appeared a mere few months later, small child in tow. She came to me almost at once with her tale. Her husband had died, leaving her and the then-infant Meg alone. She had returned to her family for a few years while she grieved, but Lefevre had contacted her with an offer of the ballet mistress' post. So she returned with her child. I never told her of my excursion beyond the Populaire's walls. A few months more, and she brought you.

"And you know the story from there," he finished. "Now you have heard the sum of my life's horrors. Do I frighten you now, I wonder? Does the blood on my hands upset you?"

Christine couldn't think of a response for a long while, and each passing second only unnerved Erik further. His fear that she would reject him completely once learning of his past burned painfully against his heart.

"What about Monsieur Buquet and Signor Piangi?" she finally asked.

"I have regretted all deaths by my hand but two. One, the cruel gypsy that tormented me those many years. The second was Buquet's. Perhaps you were unaware, through the shelter provided by myself and Antoinette, but Joseph Buquet was a hard and terrible man. You must have heard him before, speaking of me. After our work brought you to the stage, he began to watch you far more closely than before. I had caught him assaulting women of the opera previously. When he was both pursuing me and beginning to plan his attack on you, I could not take that risk. My intent had never been to display him in front of the entire theater, however."

She nodded, seeming to accept his reason. "Piangi?"

"The result of madness," Erik sighed. "I was driven so by my desperate obsession that all else failed to matter. It had not been my wish to kill him, but he struggled and though I was stronger I feared the commotion would be overheard. Before my rationality could intervene, madness took his life. And now, I fear you will never trust me again."

"I trust you," she whispered, but his keen ears caught his words. She repeated them, louder. "I trust you."

"Really?" he enquired gently. "You do not simply pity me?"

Christine shook her head. "I understand. It's not your fault, any of it. You were trying to protect people. I'm sorry. I am so sorry I couldn't trust you before. I apologize for not remembering your kindness." She pressed her face into his shoulder, and he felt a few teardrops touch his bare skin. "I'm so sorry."

A soft smile soothed the harshness from his features, and he rubbed gentle circles against her back. "I know. I understand. But don't you see, Angel? You do not blame me for those things I did to protect others. Why must you blame yourself?"

"I'll try not to," she said quietly. "I just don't know how."

"First, sleep," he suggested. "There are still some hours until supper. Rest. You have much to recover from." He began to move away, but she grasped his hand.

"Stay. Please stay. Don't leave me alone."

"You are engaged." The words tore at his soul.

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I need you. You understand. Please, Erik!"

His eyes closed in resignation, and he relaxed once more into the soft mattress. "I find this unfair. You use my love for you to gain your desires. Very well. You shall have your wish, as always, Christine."

Christine murmured something, but even his sharp senses couldn't register the faint words. When he didn't reply, she restated them. "I don't want to use your love. I'm sorry. You can leave if you want to."

"Don't apologize," Erik soothed. "You are merely very distressed and exhausted."

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"There's something… there's something I have to tell you."

"Then do so."

"I…"

88888888

AN: Hehe, cliffhanger again. Sorry, but I really wanted to cut off there. No guarantees on the next time I'll update- I've been pretty wrapped up in my Sailor Moon story for those who care, and I neglected it a lot in favor of this story so I'm making it up to my readers there. The typical request for reviews applies. Till next time!


	12. Chapter 12

AN: Update! Who's happy? For those of you that miss the action, yes, I know you want it back. It'll be a while though, since I'm focusing on relationships and such for the time being. Relax- Moreau hasn't given up yet; it's just taking time. Also, thanks to xXxMusexXx for beta-ing, as usual.

Disclaimer: The only thing I own is a copy of the movie.

88888888

"I can't," she realized. "I can't tell you yet. I can't tell you that I love you while Raoul and I are still engaged."

He struggled against laughter. "Rightly so. It would be most unfair." His heart was more light than he imagined it had ever been before. The Vicomte had been correct. She loved him. The joy of it was overwhelming.

He couldn't help the convulsions that shook his chest, however, and after about a minute it occurred to her what she had said. "I… oh, no!"

The laugh caught in his throat let loose, and his chuckles filled the room. It occurred to them both at the same moment just how rarely he laughed. "Perhaps the boy has more sense than I had thought. Tell me again, Christine. Please."

Christine stared hard at the bandages around his torso, blushing profusely. "I should not have said anything."

"But you did," Erik said gently. "Do not deny me the small joys I might have, Angel. Say it again."

She sighed. "I love you. Perhaps I always loved you. I am merely sorry for how long it took me to realize, and how I hurt you."

His embrace tightened around her. "You do not know how long I have wished to hear those words. You cannot begin to understand how lonely I have been without you. I love you as well, Christine, though I believe you know this."

"What do I do?" she moaned. "I said I would marry Raoul."

Erik's eyes flashed darkly at the thought, but he wisely suppressed a reaction. "You need only break the engagement."

"Is it that easy?" she asked. "Can I destroy him as I destroyed you?"

A knock sounded, and Erik forced himself to sit up. "What is it?"

"May I come in?" Raoul asked, voice muffled by the door.

Erik shifted to the chair, glancing at Christine. She nodded, so he answered. "You may."

The heavy door swung open and the Vicomte stood framed in it. "I hope I am not disturbing you."

"Come in," Christine said with a faint smile.

Raoul threw a wad of fabric at Erik, who easily caught it. "A fresh shirt. I thought a maid might have created some difficulty, if you had removed your mask. How are you, Christine?"

She considered her breakdown previously. "…Weary. Very weary."

"Yes, I imagine you have had a very difficult time," the young man said as he rested his hip against a nearby table. "Did you sleep well?"

"Thank you, I did."

Erik pulled the shirt over his head, noticing it to be too large on his frame but not caring. He didn't bother to lace it. "Is Madame available? I would like her to check my wounds again."

"She is in the lounge at the end of the hall," the Vicomte informed him. "She suspected you might wish for her aid."

Erik strode out without another word, leaving the other two to stare at each other uneasily. Eventually, Christine broke the silence.

"You must have been very worried."

"Indeed," Raoul replied slowly. "I am most grateful to Erik for rescuing you."

They had not really spoken since she had been kidnapped, save a brief moment's conversation in Erik's home while she had barely said a word. So much had changed.

Finally, Raoul met her eyes. "You love him."

"How did you know that?" Christine whispered, though she had already suspected as much.

A faint smile creased his boyish features. "Everyone knew, save for you. I had merely hoped you would come to love me."

"I do love you, Raoul…"

"But as a brother," he finished. "Or an old friend. Not a lover. Not a husband. You needn't worry over our engagement. I understand where your heart truly lies."

He went to the door once more, but her voice stopped him. "I am very sorry."

He faced her once more. "Do not be sorry. In the end, you were always meant to love him."

"I should not have allowed you to think otherwise."

"I merely wished, Christine. I had wished that you would be able to forget him. It is clear now that you never could. He needs you," Raoul finished. "He needs your love more than I."

"Thank you," Christine said in a low tone as he opened the door. "For understanding, thank you so much."

"Be happy," he told her.

88888888

Erik winced as Madame Giry loosened the bandages once more. "You should have taken more care while sleeping," she scolded. "Remaining upright did not aid your recovery."

"I was with Christine," he explained through gritted teeth as the tender scabs tore.

"Of course," his sister sighed. "As you always are. Surely there was a bed available for your use, but no, you had to remain with her. While I applaud your dedication, you might wish to consider your own health now and again."

Erik's eyes leveled with hers. "Was I to leave her alone when she woke, knowing how upset she would be?"

Antoinette frowned. "You are not the only one that might have seen to Christine's needs. Meg would have remained with her if you had but asked."

"She needed _me_," he replied simply.

Madame paused and considered his expression. "You certainly seem in higher spirits than usual this afternoon. Would you care to explain?"

He only shook his head with a smile. Madame Giry continued with the task.

"It appears," she said quietly, "that the Vicomte's parents shall be arriving this evening."

"Will they?" Erik asked. "He must be pleased. I cannot imagine the joys of having one's parents actually come to call."

She glanced at him. "Your parents were never there, were they? You speak of your past so rarely. You've never even given your true name."

"The family's name means nothing to me. The child that carried it, even less. Erik Destler _is_ my true name now. I do not wish to be connected to a past that contained only pain."

"And now? What does your life contain?"

He shook his head again. "Merely attempting a different tactic will not sway me. I will not answer."

She sighed. "You are a very stubborn man. Very well. Keep your secrets. You always have. However, I wonder at your uneasiness at Monsieur le Vicomte's parents visiting."

"On the contrary, I have no interest in the matter."

Madame merely arched one brow as she began caring for his hands. "Perhaps most might believe you, but I do not. I have known you for a long time, Erik, and I saw worry in your eyes when I spoke of them. What, I wonder, would be the cause of that?"

"There is no worry," he argued. "I merely question the reception I might receive at their hands, as we cannot yet leave the estate safely."

She still seemed not to believe him, but held her tongue. "If you say so. How is Christine?"

"Coping," he answered after several seconds' pause. "She is coping, though initially she was most distraught. She wept for some time."

"Christine has been very sheltered through our combined efforts," Antoinette observed. "By your hand and mine, she has been more protected than any other in the opera. No doubt her mind is having a difficult time accepting that man's death."

He nodded. "She is indeed. In the end, I told her the truth of my own life, even things I have never shared with you. After, she seemed to understand."

She eyed him critically. "If there are things you thought needed to be kept from me, I am surprised you had decided to share at all. Tell me."

"I have no wish to do so again so soon. I do not like to speak of it."

"Doubtless. No details, then. Just tell me where you were while I was away from the Populaire."

"You knew?" he questioned with a faint smile.

"Of course," she replied. "Did you think Monsieur Lefevre would not speak of your absence all those years? He was very surprised by your reappearance."

"Very well," he consented. "I travelled after you had left. Primarily, my time was passed in Persia. I suffered misfortune and returned to Paris in time for the Populaire's renovation."

"I shall assume that something terrible occurred there, but that is enough. You told Christine the complete story?"

"I did. She seemed to take it quite well. I had promised her, while we were still trapped with Moreau, that I would tell her the truth."

"I am surprised," she said quietly. "You so rarely speak of the past. I have never heard your true name cross your lips. You also never told me the truth of your past."

His eyes closed. "What do you want? Apologies? I can hardly bear to think of my past. Telling Christine was a monumental task. If you want me to tell you… I may in time. I would prefer not to. It is simpler to consider my life as beginning the day you saved me. The Populaire has been the only place in which I have known any sort of peace. Can I not keep that? You have done a great deal for me, Antoinette, and if you asked it of me, I would give you the truth, however painful it may be."

Madame Giry just smiled. "That admission is enough. I simply feared perhaps your trust in me had faded, my dear, yet just since we found you, already you have said some things I am sure you would not typically have spoken of. I have suspected for some years that you were of noble birth, and the things you have said confirm it. Is it true?"

"It is," he admitted reluctantly. "Though it hardly matters. I doubt that family realizes I still live."

The Vicomte stepped in. "How are your wounds?" he queried.

"They are healing well," Madame Giry told both men. "You needn't fret, Erik; they will be gone soon enough. How is the pain?"

"Tolerable."

Her lips quirked slightly. "I assume quite high, then. You would never admit to its existence otherwise. Have you considered taking one of your concoctions to ease it?"

Erik glared at her. "I said it was tolerable."

"Erik, I have known you for many years. You are in far more pain than you say. Take something to help it."

He continued to glare at her before sighing. "Very well. I shall shortly. I believe the Vicomte has some matters he wishes to discuss with me."

Raoul started slightly. "How did you…?"

"You are not the most subtle of men. If you had nothing to discuss, you would not be lingering here. Is there anything else, Antoinette?"

Madame Giry shook her head. "No, I've done what I can. I will see to it again when next we both are awake." She exited the room quietly, pulling her daughter away from the door as she did.

Erik watched until their footsteps had faded. "What is it now?"

"I spoke with Christine."

"I am aware," he drawled. "What of it?"

"We broke our engagement," Raoul said finally. "I am no longer standing between you."

"I imagined such would be the case, given what I learned from her and the things you have stated before. Is there something else you wish to say, or will I be permitted further rest? As Madame says, I am in some pain."

The Vicomte began to say something, but stopped himself. "It's unimportant. Christine is awaiting your return. Rest. I will send Meg to awaken you come supper, though if you would care for a small bit to eat now, I might have a servant gather some light foods for you both."

"I cannot speak for Christine, but I am not hungry. However," and the words tore at him, but he wanted to be polite, for her sake, "thank you for the offer."

"Send word if either of you require anything," Raoul told him as Erik began to move to the door.

"I shall." He felt he needed to accept that, at least, in consideration of his injuries.

88888888

AN: So that's that. My beta has already gotten on my case for the "real name" thing- it should be revealed next chapter-ish. Does anyone have any guesses? I think there's enough groundwork now that people might be able to start figuring it out. As usual, reviews are good and make authors happy and want to write more, so whatever you have to say, I take. Till next time!


	13. Chapter 13

AN: Welcome to the new chapter! Another quick thing to clarify: a few people have commented that they're glad I'm not treating like a crybaby fop. Honestly, people, I don't like him. I can't stand him. This story however is not about tormenting Raoul (for that, see my other two Phantom pieces). As usual, thanks to xXxMusexXx for beta-ing.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, shockingly enough.

88888888

She was already asleep when Erik returned. He slept once again at Christine's side, relishing in her closeness. A sense of being content, something he had never before known, rose in him. For the first time in his years, he truly felt hope for what laid ahead, rather than the despairing darkness that had surrounded him previously. She was a light in that previously unending blackness.

Even as those thoughts flitted through his tired mind, he frowned. Was it a mistake, he wondered, to allow it? Surely an angel had no place with one such as himself. He would not deny how strongly his spirit yearned to keep her with him always, yet the kinder part of him, a part awakened by her, fretted. He would taint and ruin her.

Restless once more, he rose and wandered to the writing table in the room. Looking it over, he spied several of his own things, which he did not doubt had been brought by the ever-considerate Madame Giry. The portfolio he had been filling with his work was there, and some of his art supplies. His painting set and a few canvasses rested against a nearby wall, an easel in the corner. It was for these items he reached, and quickly the easel stood before his seat with a clean canvas while he opened his paints.

He allowed his consciousness to drift, freeing his hand to create whatever image it desired. He paid no heed as a soft and soothing tune began to play in his mind, but he felt no urge to capture it on paper. He was willing to allow it to stay always in his thoughts.

As his rationality began to focus once more on the world, he studied the now-complete painting with some curiosity. Habitually his work could consume him for hours or even days, yet he suspected no more than a single hour had passed since he allowed his mind to wander. It was certainly unusual to finish a piece, be it drawing, painting, or music, in so brief a period.

The canvas before him now held a simple image of a semicircle of massive trees on an otherwise bare plain. They were very quickly done, he noted, seemingly minor details though they dominated the scene. The true focus, once one deigned to look more closely, was the miniscule figure at the base of the backmost tree. It took no great wisdom to discern that person's identity, for no other appeared so frequently in his art. Christine, absolutely tiny, was still rendered in exquisite detail, but there was a sadness in the image that Erik could not explain. He looked away, setting the painting against the wall to dry undisturbed. Instead, he took a pen from the stand and dipped it thoughtfully into a nearby pot of ink.

It was not, however, music that flowed onto the page. Thoughts were scribed, more plainly than Erik had ever before indicated such things.

_Never before have I yearned to commit my musings to a page in mere words, devoid of the music with which they are accompanied under most circumstances. Yet now I find the music does not come, save a peculiar tune that I will not attempt to record. I do not yet understand what it might be. _

_ My mind's wanderings are ever centered on the angel whom I now behold. My beautiful Christine. In a long gone time, it was sheer chance which twined our paths. I had become accustomed to few people entering the small chapel and had not been cautious. A new song had begun to creep into my thoughts, and I sang without knowing I did. The child heard my voice and wished to know if I was the Angel her father had promised her. _

_ At first, I had no reply, though I cannot recall being so flattered as when her innocent mind first set that title to me. I realized her identity after little more than a moment. She was the young orphan that Antoinette had brought to the opera with her, though I wondered at the wisdom of the decision, for the opera was often a depraved place and unsuited for a small child. She repeated her inquiry, and I could not find it in my dark heart to deny her the comfort she so obviously desired. And so I told Christine that I was indeed the Angel of Music her father had sent, and I promised to teach her those things that she wished to learn. _

_ For so long after that, I had not thought to be anything but her guide and instructor, but it seemed that cruel Fate wished to wound me once more. I came to love my Angel as she grew from child to woman, and I desired little more than to keep her with me always. I fought the urge for some time, fearing the evil things of myself and my horrific past would smother the beauty of her. When the boy came to the opera at the time I finally felt my Christine ready to take her rightful place, I could not believe the fear and jealousy that threatened to consume me. Against my previous inclination, I revealed myself to her and spoke hesitantly of my love for her. _

_ The hurt I suffered when she would not trust me and took my mask was beyond description, though I knew even then that it was curiosity rather than malice that drove her. In my pain, I lashed out at her and caused her to fear me as all others did, save the kind Antoinette Giry that had cared for me for so long. I frightened away the one person which I had desired to never lose. _

_ The rest of our disastrous past I have not the heart to consider again, for I acted very much like a madman and did far more harm than I ever had wished. Now I find myself faced with an even older pain, one that existed long before I became a lonely child's Angel of Music. In this place, I am reminded without pause of the childhood I have long sought to escape in my mind, and the old wounds that had never healed. I begin to believe that rather than escape, I will find confrontation, and the old truths will come to light that I would prefer forever buried. Lies will no longer pass my lips, should the tale be revealed, yet I yearn that it will continue to lie hidden. Happiness for the first time seems near at hand, and this secret might prove the destruction of that hope. _

_ I have always feared that my darkness would mar my beloved Angel and lead her to harm, and yet she has found it in her undying kindness to not only forgive the terrible things I have done to her and the boy to whom she had been affianced, but also to speak of love for me, love which I had thought long dead. I begin to understand that no darkness will ever tarnish the brightness of her soul, but it may yet tear us asunder, and I fear that I will never find the light again should that be the case. _

Pain seared through his back and hands, and to a lesser degree, in his face. Erik quickly set the pen aside. It seemed enough to have recorded his thoughts for now, as his body urged him to further rest and recover. Even as he stood, there was a hesitant rapping at the door. Wishing to avoid waking Christine, he crossed the room silently and opened it, stepping into the hall and easing it shut once more behind him.

A servant stared at him cautiously, clearly unnerved by the dark mask he wore. "I beg your pardon, Monsieur, but the Vicomte wished me to determine you and your lady's intentions regarding the evening meal. It is to be served within the quarter hour."

He returned the gaze calmly, though internally surprised to some small degree at the lack of anger regarding both the disturbance and the open suspicion. "I cannot speak for the lady, but I would prefer to take the meal separately. I am still quite weary and have little wish for company. If you would pardon me for a moment, I shall ask Miss Daaé for a decision."

"Of course, Monsieur," the little maid agreed, curtseying nervously.

Erik slipped once more into the room and seated himself at Christine's side before gently shaking her shoulder. "Wake up, Angel."

She was slow to open her eyes, yet they did after a moment focus on his. "Erik? What is it?"

"There is a servant at the door that wishes to know if you would prefer to go to the dining room for supper or would rather a tray be brought."

She sat up, rubbing her temples to ease a mild headache. "Which did you choose?"

"I am in no mood to join the others, so I have asked to eat here. Do you wish to remain here, or would you like to go?"

Christine gazed at him through her thick lashes. "If I asked you to, would you take supper with everyone? You have already been alone for far too long."

A soft smile creased his lips. "Perhaps another time I would, but I am still very tired, and my wounds are paining me. Even had that not been the case, there are still things that lie between the Vicomte and I, and those problems must be overcome before we might choose to break bread together."

She seemed to understand his reasons. "If you are eating here, I will join you." A smile of her own flitted across her face. "I do think that allowing you to be alone now might give you far too much time to brood and worry needlessly."

Her words bore the ring of truth, though he had no desire to admit it. "Then I shall inform the maid that we would prefer to dine here. Have you any other desire?"

"Not tonight," she shook her head, "but I would very much appreciate a bath come morning."

Erik certainly agreed with her and stepped from the room once more to relay the instructions.

88888888

The following morning, Raoul rapped gently on the door to his father's study. The Comte and Comtesse had arrived after the others had retired, and a servant had appeared at his bedchamber that morning with a summons.

"Come in," the Comte called.

The Vicomte stepped in and gazed at his father, seated behind a massive desk of ornately carved mahogany. His mother, he imagined, was still abed, for the Comtesse detested travel and would rest for several hours longer than her typical routine after. "Good morning, Father."

"Good morning, dear boy!" his father greeted jovially. The resemblance between the two was apparent in their faces, though the Comte was more portly than his thinner son and his hair had turned grey some years before. Standing he would have been perhaps a tiny bit shorter. "It has been more than a year since you have returned home, Raoul. Has something been bothering you?"

"As the patron of the Populaire, there was business to attend to constantly," Raoul answered cautiously.

One of his father's brows arched. "Do not think that residing in Rouen bars your mother and I from news. The Opera Populaire has been closed for months."

He inclined his head. "Yes, that is true enough. However, I have been overseeing the purchase of the Populaire while attending to personal matters."

"Such as your fiancée's kidnapping?"

"I did not realize you were aware."

"That is why we decided to come," the Comte explained, "though we had expected to find you at the townhouse. What brings you to the estate at this time of year? You do not often care for country living in the winter."

Raoul proceeded to outline in barest terms the events that had brought him to the family estate, purposefully omitting mention of Erik's involvement for the moment. He had some questions before he wished to draw attention to the other man.

Both the Vicomte and his father sat back for several moments contemplating upon the completion of the tale.

"Tell me about my brother," Raoul said suddenly.

His father eyed him warily. "You do not often ask of such things. Indeed, it has been many years since you have cared to even speak of having a brother."

"It has been on my mind," he replied. "Did you ever learn what happened to him?"

"You already know that after your brother vanished so many years ago your mother and I had assumed he had died."

"I want to learn more about him," the Vicomte said. "Not just what happened to him, but about _him_. Surely there are things you can say of your first son."

The Comte considered. "I did not know your brother well, and that is one of my greatest failures. I had believed that men had no place in the raising of children and so paid him little heed. He and your mother had difficulties as well, so he was raised primarily in the care of nurses. I imagine he was very lonely. I cannot even clearly picture his face."

"What would have happened to make things difficult between him and _Maman_?"

His father shook his head. "The memory still plagues your mother, so it is best not to speak of it. Suffice it to say that something happened that she could not forgive herself for and she pushed him away as a result."

"Do you know anything else about him? How old was he when he disappeared?"

"He was eight," the older man recalled with a faint smile. "Oh, there was never a time in which your brother and I were at all close, but he was a precocious child. His tutors reported that he was at once brilliant and headstrong. He had also recently discovered a strong affinity for music."

"Music?"

"Yes, it appeared that though he had never received instruction he was very skilled with a piano. There were many times that I heard beautiful haunting music, but no one seemed to know the player. Once I found him playing."

"Do you know why he disappeared?" Raoul pressed.

His father shook his head. "We never knew with any degree of certainty, but the police suspected he had run away. For years I had hoped he would return, but it has been so long that I cannot believe he survives."

"What was his name?"

"Goodness," the Comte said, startled. "Have we never even told you your brother's name? I am sorry, dear boy. His name was Erik."

Raoul's head spun. "How can that possibly be?"

"My dear boy, whatever is the matter?"

"I think… I think my brother is alive… and I know him."

88888888

AN: Hehe, cliffhanger again. Sorry guys. Anyway, with luck the next chapter should be ready soon, since I'm already midway through writing it. Like always, I love your reviews, so please let me know what you think! Till next time!


	14. Chapter 14

AN: Yes, it's an update less than a week after the last one! I know I left you guys hanging a bit badly last time, so I said that I would try to post again soon and here it is. As always, thanks to xXxMusexXx for beta-ing this for me.

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. If I did, Raoul would never have won.

88888888

"If you had questions regarding my identity," Erik said from the entry, "you might have chosen to ask me directly rather than seek the information elsewhere."

"Would you have answered?"

"Perhaps." His gaze flew to the older man. "Monsieur le Comte," he said politely, inclining his head. He turned once more to Raoul. "I would not have lied, at least, though I may have been disinclined to speak."

"How much of that conversation did you listen to?" the Comte demanded. "It is most rude to eavesdrop."

"I beg your pardon then, Monsieur le Comte. I had been searching for your son due to some personal needs. I could not help overhearing, as it was quite clear that he was speaking of me. Indeed, I believe I heard most, if not all, that was said."

"Is it true?" Raoul asked finally. "Are you really…?"

"It is strange that you would ask directly when you are still so unsure. No doubt it has occurred to you that your father did not mention your brother as being disfigured, which he would no doubt know should what you suspect be true," Erik drawled.

"It is unkind to speak ill of the dead," the Comte stated, though suspicion and curiosity began to dawn on his features. "How did you know my first son was deformed? Raoul, dear boy, who is this man?"

"He goes by Erik Destler," the younger man answered shakily.

Erik bowed deeply. "I have also been known as the Phantom of the Opera and many other things besides. No doubt you are familiar with the Phantom."

"Indeed," the older man said. "There are not many in all of France that have not heard whisper of the dreaded Opera Ghost that haunted the Populaire."

"Was my brother deformed?" Raoul demanded abruptly.

"Well, yes," the Comte replied. "A tragic accident had marred the right side of his face."

"Then it is true," the Vicomte whispered as what little color he had drained from his face. "Yet how can it be?"

"I knew your brother," Erik said coldly. "He died merely a day after he ran away, while trapped in a gypsy's freak show."

The Comte studied Erik with worry in his old eyes. "You knew my boy? How?"

"You don't see?" Raoul asked faintly. "This is… my brother. I know the tale from Madame Giry. Erik was trapped in a gypsy's show for four years. He was only eight when he was captured. The first day, he changed his name. Yet Madame Giry never knew who he had been before. How did it take me so long to see it?"

"The boy that was Erik de Chagny died that day," Erik stated. "No one has ever been aware of him since."

The Comte rose. "You… are my son? I thought you were dead."

"I have already heard your tale. I am aware that you did not realize I survived. For more than twenty years, I have not admitted to the truth, yet I suspect that the time has at last come. I was Erik de Chagny, those many years ago. Is that what you wished to know?"

"Raoul, leave us," their father ordered.

"What?" he protested. "No."

"Raoul, there are many things which I wish to discuss with your brother. You have had a chance to know him. I have not. Can I not have that now?"

The Vicomte left, though not without a constant muttered stream of protests. Erik watched his progress silently until the study door closed behind him.

"Are you truly my son?" the Comte asked simply.

"I have already stated my name. Was that insufficient?"

"No, it was not. I merely find it difficult to believe that after so many years you have returned."

"Not of my own volition," Erik corrected. "Necessity drove me here. I had no desire to return, nor to acknowledge a long-dead past."

"You would have let us believe you dead forever?" the Comte questioned.

"I never pretended to have died, except to say that the boy I used to be had died, which was true. The assumption was your own. Why should I have said otherwise?"

"As your father, I have a right to answers."

"Perhaps," Erik acknowledged, "if I considered you to be my father. To my mind I have no parents, since to theirs they had no child. If I am wrong, tell me, but I have no other explanation for the neglect I suffered."

"It was never my intent to neglect you," his father said sadly. "I was young and foolishly believed children were to be raised by women. That has long been the largest regret in my heart."

"Then perhaps there may be an accord between us in time. However, that does not excuse the action, and I have not forgotten. You have twice this morning said things I did not understand, and I would have an explanation."

"And what have I said that was not clear?"

"First," Erik drawled, "you said that the Comtesse did something she had never forgiven herself for and that she avoided me as a result. Second, you said that my face was the result of a tragic accident. To my knowledge, I had been born with this deformity."

"No," the Comte sighed. "You were not. Indeed, to my eyes you seemed quite perfect when you were born."

"Then what changed?" The Comte hesitated, but the look in Erik's eye was clear enough. "I have spent years unknowing. It would seem that I deserve to learn the truth."

"Very well," he consented. "Your mother and I were… very young, when we were wed, most unwillingly. When she became pregnant so quickly she was horrified. The pregnancy was very difficult for her and she was bedridden for months. You were a very large and strong baby. She was very long in recovering.

"For the first three months of your life you were constantly in the care of your nurse, as your mother was too ill to care for you and I was frequently gone on business. One day I returned from such a trip to find the household in an uproar. Your mother had finally been able to leave her bed, but she was distraught from spending so long ill. She had taken you from your nurse."

"She intended my death," Erik realized.

"Perhaps so. She had somehow acquired a vial of a strong acid that she had poured over your face. Your nurse happened to enter the room in time and stopped her from going further and did everything she could to help you, but the damage was done. The worst of the injury was under your right eye, and it never healed correctly."

Without thought, Erik's hand came to the distortion there. "You are saying that the woman that birthed me is the reason I have suffered these many long years. It was an action of one that should have loved me most that trapped me in a freak show. The entirety of my suffering can be laid squarely at her feet."

"Erik, I can explain," the Comte began, but his son had heard enough.

"You might wish to make excuses," he said coldly, "but I have no wish to hear them. Do you still wonder why I left? Why was it, do you think, that I felt I had no place with you? I did not have the answers then, but now I have them and I find them not at all to my taste. If the circumstances had not dictated that I must remain here, I would be gone within the hour. However I am, for the time being, trapped. Do not take this to mean there will be forgiveness or even that I will be willing to speak with you or any other."

He was at the door when the Comte spoke again. "Whether you wish it or not, you are indeed forced to remain here and will be expected to behave politely. Your mother has already given orders that a meal be taken for us all this evening. You will be expected to attend."

Erik's eyes were cold as ice. "For the sake of Christine, perhaps I shall. I will repeat: there will be no forgiveness for this worst of transgressions."

He stalked angrily from the room, desiring only the comfort of Christine's presence and an understanding mind.

88888888

He said nothing to Christine regarding the reason for his anger, and she did not question it. Instead, she spoke of her longing to return to the Populaire and they considered plans for its renovation. Erik had been adamant that _Don Juan Triumphant_ be the first work performed, but she refused to take Aminta's role unless Erik was singing Don Juan. After near an hour's argument, they had agreed. He would alter the stage directions to allow him to take the part.

They took the noon meal in their room again, and Erik rested in bed for the afternoon in an attempt to appease both his irate sister and his angel. Both were fretting terribly over his wounds. His hands had been freed of the bandages, at least, but the sight of the healing cuts had caused Christine to cry. He had spent nearly a quarter hour soothing her and assuring her it truly wasn't so terrible. Antoinette had berated him awfully for his lack of consideration for the injuries. He suspected by her expression that the Vicomte had mentioned the truth of his identity to her, but she did not speak of it.

Erik was not pleased to be restricted to the bed, but for Christine's peace of mind he acquiesced. He lay there as she sang for him and basked in the comfort of her nearness. She had quickly discovered his painting and the words he had written the previous night, but had kindly tucked those pages away and turned her attention to praising the artwork lavishly. He enjoyed her pleasure. For a while, she had taken a drawing pad and attempted to sketch, but her efforts had done nothing but make her laugh and she had refused to show him. Some of his deep anger from the morning's revelations began to fade, though he imagined it continued to simmer just below the surface.

The Vicomte appeared nearer to the meal, bringing a few choices of clothing for their use. Christine had begged him to stay and talk, but the boy had demonstrated some degree of cleverness and bowed out. Instead, he sent servants to prepare a bath for them.

In ways the event seemed similar to the first night Christine and Erik had spent trapped in Moreau's estate, but this was a more cheerful occurrence. Christine soaked lavishly in the hot water as Erik began to see how well he could still play since his injury. Madame Giry had brought his violin.

"Won't you play for me?" she asked from behind the dressing screen.

"Perhaps," he answered. "I do not yet know how limber my fingers are, so I beg your patience should I be less skilled than usual."

It took several false starts until his stiffness fell away enough to play with his typical grace. The sonatas leapt from the little instrument and filled the room with the haunting tune. She hummed along as she completed her bath and wrapped a thick robe around her.

He set the violin aside as she stepped out and poured a bucket of additional hot water into the tub before he settled in himself, listening as a maid came to assist Christine in dressing. Perhaps the servants were scandalized by the pair's behavior, but he hardly cared. They took comfort in each other's presence.

The hot water soothed some of the pain that he now could not ignore, and he breathed a sigh of relief. No blood appeared in the water, proving the wounds in his back had at last closed. He quickly bathed and stepped out, slipping on his trousers and an open shirt. His black mask was added without thought. Madame Giry had insisted that his wounds be bandaged again. Christine was now in the process of having her hair done and he wondered at the time women put into such things. Madame Giry bustled in, already dressed for dinner.

"Erik, my dear, take a seat," she instructed. "The shirt, please."

He shrugged it back off. "There truly is no need," he said. "The wounds seem to have begun healing."

"That may be true, but you often pay little heed to the demands of your body. You might yet reopen them." Antoinette began winding the soft linen around his torso with practiced hands.

"Have I rested enough to satisfy your demands?" he asked drily.

She studied his face. "For the time being, yes. Christine is doing well in aiding you."

"She is a miracle," Erik said reverently. "I do not know if I would survive this without her."

The Vicomte rapped on the partially open door, Meg just behind him. "Is everyone ready?"

"It seems so," Christine replied as she got to her feet.

Erik quickly shrugged on his shirt before adding his vest and coat. Madame assisted him with the cravat when it defeated his aching fingers. "Indeed. Let us get this torture over with."

"Do you want your gloves?" Christine suggested.

"No, thank you, Angel. I fear that the gloves and my sore fingers would quickly end any attempts to use a knife."

They filed out, joining Meg and Raoul at the door. Raoul held Erik back for a moment. "You do not have to go if you are not feeling well."

"Your father has told you what occurred after you left."

The Vicomte nodded. "I am sorry that I brought this up. I did not wish you further harm."

"The truth would have become apparent with time. No doubt one or both of your parents would have begun to realize the similarities." He shook his head. "I am well enough to attend the meal. I must simply avoid any unpleasant scenes."

"You are certain?" Raoul pressed. "I have told Father that you are wounded and must rest. You would be excused for not attending."

"I have already said that I will," Erik said impatiently. "I would like to go and have this finished quickly. Spare me your guilt. I have problems enough of my own."

"Father told Mother," the Vicomte added hurriedly. "She knows now who you are. You do not yet have to face her if you are not prepared to do so."

Erik faced the younger man irritably. "I realize that we have things between us that must be rectified, but do not attempt to make amends by interfering in what I do. I have made my decision already, for Christine's sake."

"Very well," Raoul agreed finally. "I hope for your sake that this does not go too badly."

88888888

The meal was rather silent after a round of introductions and a few moments' talking between the ladies. Christine and Meg had spoken rather enthusiastically until they got a sense of the tension among the others. When Christine laid her hand on Erik's arm, she could feel how tightly bunched his muscles were very easily.

"Angel, whatever is the matter?" she asked softly as the servants began to set out the third course. "Are you feeling unwell? Are your wounds paining you?"

"I am well, Christine," he assured her. "You need not worry."

She began to say something else, but seemed to reconsider. "If you say so."

The next course was eaten without any conversation whatsoever, though the Comte and Comtesse both looked at Erik frequently. Raoul kept his eyes on his plate. Meg and Christine exchanged concerned looks. Erik seemed to pay no heed to the actions of the others.

A lovely mousse was being served as the dessert when the silence was finally broken. The Comtesse hesitantly glanced at Erik and spoke. "Are you… are you really my son?"

His expression was completely neutral. "You know already who I am."

Meg mouthed 'son?' at Christine, who could do nothing more than shake her head.

"Please…" she continued. "Can you not just tell me? I have been told you are, but I would like you to confirm it."

Erik was abruptly standing, hands planted firmly on the table. "I was once a boy named Erik de Chagny, yes. Is that enough for you, or would you prefer the grisly details be shared?"

Tears formed in the corners of the Comtesse's blue eyes. "Erik, please, I know you must be terribly angry with me…"

"Angry?" he repeated incredulously. "I have long passed _angry._ I am absolutely furious. You have asked if I am your son. To that I will answer with a denial. I am not your son because I do not have a mother. You cannot be my mother because no woman worthy of that title would have acted as you have."

He stormed angrily from the room. Christine hurriedly excused herself and rushed after him.

88888888

AN: So the truth is completely out, except Erik's explaining it to Christine. I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter. As usual, please review: whatever you have to say is good! Till next time!


	15. Chapter 15

AN: Sorry for the delay. I've been rather caught up in my other story and had a hard time with this particular section. Also, my readers were very stingy last chapter and only gave me two reviews, which was not encouraging… It made me very sad. So please remember that you guys reviewing makes me want to write you more. Anyway, as always, thanks to xXxMusexXx for doing the beta work.

Disclaimer: I don't own this, or the awfulness of the sequel's ending certainly wouldn't have been a possibility since Erik would have won the first time.

88888888

"Erik!" Christine called. "Angel, please!"

She followed as he exited the mansion and moved to the gardens. A few of the men that had guarded the building silently followed them. Some length in, he abruptly paused. She quickly used the moment to reach his side. He had a pistol in his hand.

"Erik, what…?"

"Quiet," he ordered harshly. His eyes took in the surroundings with a focus on the dark trees that marked the edge of the wood through which they had escaped Moreau and his hounds. "There is something nearby."

"What is it?" she asked cautiously. "Moreau?"

"Perhaps. I thought I had seen something, yet now I do not."

He began to walk away again, but she managed to take his hand. "Angel, please, tell me what is wrong."

"Wrong?" Erik repeated scathingly. "There is nothing wrong. Certainly, revelations regarding one's past of the most dismal sort are mere trifles."

"I don't understand," Christine whispered.

"My _mother_," he sneered, "is the reason that I have suffered all these long years. By her fair hand I was cursed."

"Cursed?"

He nodded sharply. "Cursed. Damned for all time by a foolhardy act of a woman that might have known better. The woman that birthed me marked me for all to see through her wicked action."

Comprehension began to grow in her mind. "By marked, you mean…?"

"My face?" he drawled. "Yes. It seems that it was my mother's hand that destroyed me, when I had always believed I had been born this way."

Her hand lifted slowly to touch the mask above his scars. "You are not cursed, Angel. Surely you cannot still believe it to be true?"

"No?" he snapped, twisting away. "I am a monster. What else would attempt to kill its own brother? What else would be so repulsive that its own mother scorned it and sought to be rid of it?"

Christine quickly moved in front of him once more and snatched the mask away. With a curse, he pushed her as his hand moved without thought to hide his face. She stumbled and fell to the ground, and something changed in Erik's eyes. Life and reason seemed to return. He knelt by her side.

"Christine," he breathed, "I am so very sorry."

She shook her head. "I am all right."

"Then why do I see fear in your eyes?" he asked in a low voice.

Slowly, Christine's hands framed his face. Her thumb traced the contours of his scarred cheek. "I do not fear for myself, Erik. I am afraid for you."

"For me?"

"Yes." She pressed a gentle kiss against the distorted skin. "Will you allow your demons to overcome you once more? I am afraid that if they do I shall not be able to reach you again. You fought for so long to be free. Do not let this terrible revelation destroy everything."

"It is already destroyed, as I have said. I have ruined what little chance I had with my only brother, though I have not yet forgotten the pain there. My home… I had destroyed that as well."

"Your brother?"

"Monsieur le Vicomte," he said coolly as he turned away, "is my brother. There is so very much that you cannot understand."

"Then help me! I fear so much for your sake, and I wish only to help you with this burden, but there is nothing I can do if you will not confide in me," said Christine. "I have never seen you quite so lost."

Erik snorted. "Of course you have. Indeed, you have seen much worse than this, or have you forgotten? I had tied the Vicomte to my portcullis and threatened to kill him as I demanded your love."

"Erik, look at me."

Reluctantly his gaze tracked once more to her face. "I am."

"Then why can you not see?" she asked sadly. "I do not think you a monster, nor do I blame you for those things that have happened before. It was I that drove you to such extremes. If there is to be guilt, then it is mine."

"I was mad and ruined everything in my path. You cannot be blamed for that."

Her hands framed his cheeks gently. "That was not you, Erik. You are an angel, sent to guide me. You gave me a great gift. That anger, that madness? It was not you. Do not think that you will be bound forever by the madness that created such unhappy times. Let me help you. Tell me, now, whatever it is that you have not before. Allow me to help you carry that burden."

He sighed. "As always, I can deny you nothing. Very well. Yet I find I do not know how to begin."

"You are Raoul's brother."

Erik gave a tired nod. "Yes, though I was not aware of him until you told me of him as a child. At the time I cared little. However, when he came to the Populaire… I was not glad to see him. I did not rejoice in the chance to meet him. I was afraid that he would once more develop an interest in you."

"Was that so terrible?"

"Christine," he sighed, "I have long been deprived of those things that I had desired. Here was my younger brother, with everything that had been denied me. I had no wish to see him take that one thing I had left. You were all there was for me, and it immediately became clear that he wanted you as well."

"And then?" she prodded.

"Then I did what I had vowed I would not. I revealed myself to you for the first time that night, in hopes that you would care more for my attentions than his. Initially it had seemed effective, but the next morning…"

She understood. "I had rejected his invitation to supper and joined you in your world, but then I betrayed you and took your mask. Then at _Il Muto_ I ran with him to the roof, and you were there. I was so frightened that I chose him when my heart truly belonged to you. I wounded you again without even intending it. I did to you exactly what you had feared."

"Do you see now why I could do nothing but resent him? I knew that I should at least attempt to know my brother, but all I could see was that I was losing you to him, and that I could not bear."

"Yet I am with you now. Can you not attempt to set things right?" Christine asked. "Can you try to repair the damage within your family?"

He stiffened. "Perhaps with my father. I might even be able to make peace with my brother. My mother…"

"Your mother," she interjected, "made a mistake. She seems to genuinely care now. The past cannot be undone, but the future has yet to unfold. Do you really wish to deny your chance at a real family?"

"You are my family. You, Antoinette, and Meg are all the family I need."

"Surely you cannot say that you do not care at all to know your parents, or Raoul. He is a good man."

"I do not like him," Erik said simply.

"And he does not like you," she countered, "but he is willing to make amends. You have gained what you desired. Can you not simply make peace between you?"

"Is that what you wish?" He turned, facing the gibbous moon.

"Whether I wish it or not has little bearing. Do you not desire peace? Would you deprive your family of our children, or keep our children from knowing them?"

"Children?" he repeated, facing her.

"God willing, yes. You have always known that I wanted a family, Erik. Why would that have changed?" she questioned. "I want to have your children someday. Do you not want that?"

He laughed softly. "We have not even spoken yet of marriage and yet you speak of children. I had not considered them, in truth. With all else it seemed quite unimportant."

A faint smile quirked her lips. "Did you not intend to marry me? I had assumed, given the lovely gown you had made me."

"I have wanted nothing more in all my years," he growled, "yet I need you to be absolutely sure. I cannot change what I am, Christine. I am not a good man. I am not my sainted brother."

"Raoul is no saint," she disagreed without anger. "He is merely a man, as you are, and you are indeed a good man. You might have done some terrible things, but you were driven to them and have repented."

"Does repenting wash away the blood that stains me? Will it allow me to forget the deaths I have caused?"

"Some things are not meant to be forgotten." She took his hand in hers. "Let us return to our chamber. There need not be further unhappiness tonight."

Erik allowed Christine to lead him back to the mansion.

88888888

In the deepest shadows of the wood, concealed from sight, many pairs of eyes watched. Once the couple had vanished into the house and the guards had returned to their posts, men stepped forward. Many seemed worn, and one wore the ruined garments of an aristocrat.

Moreau glared at his men. "How did they reach this place? They should have been found before this."

"It seems that the Opera Ghost was canny and sensed the approach of the nearest party of our hunters," one of his servants reported. "He and the other man fought them, as well as the young blonde daughter of the ballet mistress. All men were rendered unconscious and were bound save one."

"What of that one?"

The servant winced. "It seems that Emil suffered a blow to the stomach. It would have proved fatal, yet it seems that one of the targets was merciful and spared him the painful death."

"We cannot hope to reach them here," another observed. "Acting openly against the Comte would be madness. The other man is his son."

"They are both his sons," Moreau snapped. "Did you not listen? The Phantom of the Opera is the son of the Comte as well. Already we have come against the Comte."

"You hold a higher rank. Can you not stand against him?"

"Perhaps," the Marquis said, staring at the large manor. "Yet they are many, and I am only one. There is also proof now, in Erik's wounds and in their testimonies."

"The man is a criminal. No court would take his word."

They faded back into the shadows once more, but their eyes never left the well-lit home.

88888888

The following morning, Erik awoke very early, roused by the light coming through the window. In his ill temper he had forgotten to pull the drapes. He contemplated resting further, but his strength and vitality was quickly returning and he had no desire to remain in bed. Instead he dressed quietly and wandered through the manor until he came to the music room.

This one received better care than the other, he noted idly. At least the surfaces were free of dust and the instruments were in good repair. As before there were many shelves of scores against one wall, organized by instrument and vocals. His attention turned to the stacks of blank music sheets. He took several to the piano before locating a pen and jar of ink. He preferred his organ, of course, but a piano would do just as well for the moment. Taking a seat at the bench, his fingers rested easily on the keys. A faint memory formed of him doing exactly that as a small child, scarcely large enough to reach the pedals. He quickly banished it as music began to weave around him.

He played for nearly an hour, stopping only now and again to record his work. Some pieces that sprang from the elegant instrument were not his, yet they were played flawlessly with only memory to guide him. As he ceased, several small tunes rested in completion against the piano's music stand.

"You play quite well."

Betraying no hint of surprise, Erik turned enough to see his brother in the doorway. "Thank you."

"Christine had told me you play," Raoul continued as he moved further into the room, "and I saw your organ, but I had not imagined this."

"I first discovered a skill for music with this piano. Later I found the organ to be my preference, but I have not forgotten."

The Vicomte perched at the window seat. "That is how you knew this manor so well. I had wondered at the time, but there were more pressing issues."

Erik inclined his head in response before organizing the sheets of newly written notes. "In my exhaustion I did not take care with my words as I usually do."

Silence reigned for several beats as Raoul watched his elder brother with an amazement he had never before felt for his one-time rival. "I do not think that we will ever forget the harm done on both sides, but I would like to attempt at least to know each other. You are my brother, after all."

"A fact which I yearn to forget," Erik said drily. "No, I will not disregard the pain you have caused, yet Christine has said clearly that she would have me attempt to right the wrongs done. I will do as she asks" He faced the ivory keys once more. "I may never forgive you for trying to steal her away. You, who had already received all things that I had wished for myself, desired the single thing I held dear. It was a most grievous wound."

"It is strange to imagine that once you would have stood in my place, as my parents' child."

"I was never in your place. You are the golden son. You were given whatever you wished for. I was denied even the warmth of their embrace. You hold my title. In many ways, your life is what mine might have been. Perhaps it is even what mine should have been. Instead I have suffered more than you in your insulated world might ever imagine."

Raoul could find no flaw in his words. "Truly, I cannot begin to understand the depths of your suffering. I cannot understand your choice to hide yourself beneath the opera for years. Nor can I relate to your difficulties with our parents. I was a most spoiled boy until I came to the Populaire. It was my encounter with you that taught me to appreciate those things I had."

"I am most glad to be of service," Erik stated mockingly. "By all means, inform me if I might aid you further."

"I did not mean to speak of those dark days so lightly," the Vicomte said by way of apology, "yet it is true. In many ways I had still been a child before. Yes, you have suffered greatly, yet you understand many things which are beyond my grasp."

"Do not wish to know those things. That knowledge is a darkness which never ends, and is not worth the suffering that speaks of such." Erik's words were harsh, but there seemed to the younger man a degree of genuine concern in his tone.

"Do you not wish to know your family?" Raoul asked softly. "I suppose in some ways I still resent that you are Christine's choice, but I am willing to set the past aside in order to forge a stronger future."

"I have no family."

"Do you not? You have already admitted to being my older brother. You are family now."

"Family whom you hate and would once have been glad to see dead."

He began playing again, paying no heed to the younger man. Raoul shook his head and waited as patiently as he could, knowing there were still things to be said. Erik ignored him steadily for nearly a half hour before his hands came down hard against the keys, creating a jarring discord.

"What," he snarled, "do you want? I do not desire companionship and I have no interest in being your brother. Leave me alone."

"It is not so simple as that."

"Unless there is legitimate business to discuss, I have nothing to say to you," Erik stated.

"You do not seem willing to make amends as Christine asked," Raoul frowned. "Did you not say you would?"

"I am not willing, but I had promised her I would make the attempt. That will, however, be done by my wishes. At this moment there is nothing to say, for I am unwilling as yet to forgive."

"Might we at least act civilly?" the Vicomte suggested. "We will be forced to remain in close quarters for at least some time."

It galled Erik, but he admitted to himself that the boy had a point. "…Very well," he agreed finally. "That at least I might do. Now, might I have some peace? I wish to work."

Raoul had sense enough to bow out before Erik's temper broke his control, and he quickly absented himself from the room. Erik turned back to the piano and lost himself once more in the music.

88888888

The winter passed with relative peace. Erik remained civil with the Vicomte though at times it grated both men's nerves. With his father there was some small progress, but he was not willing to bend where his mother was concerned. Most of those months were spent avoiding her company. He often left the room when she entered, save for the evening meal which was taken with all present.

Madame Giry and Meg were the first to leave the estate, returning to Paris with Erik's plans for the Populaire. Madame was to oversee the renovations as Meg began to search for promising performers that would fill the opera's cast. Erik stated specifically that those freed from Moreau were particularly welcome. He also sent word discreetly to Giles, instructing him to send his sister to the Populaire once it was reopened. He promised to keep the girl safe and to see to her training.

Christine often expressed the wish to return to Paris as well, but Erik was inflexible in the matter. She was to remained in the protection of the de Chagny manor until the opera house was ready, upon which she would join him and the Girys there.

He himself left the grounds on a few occasions, but only briefly and on unspecified errands. One, she imagined, had been to his home beneath the Populaire, as he had returned with a portion of his wardrobe. He had grown weary of the ill-fitting garments the de Chagnys had been able to provide and had no desire to see a tailor. He had also retrieved a few of his white masks, as they had to be regularly cleaned in order to remain comfortable. It had been near three weeks before his face had healed well enough to accept the inflexible leather. His other wounds had healed as well, but she had seen him still wince on occasion even as spring drew near. Worried, she pressed him to see a physician. He brushed aside her words with assurances that it was not serious.

Finally the Populaire was completed, and a de Chagny carriage took both Christine and Erik to its newly repaired grandeur. She was greeted with an instant sense of returning home, and a brilliant smile graced her features. Meg and Madame Giry stood together in the entry to meet them.

"Welcome home, my dears," Madame Giry said. She and her daughter threw open the doors. Christine gasped.

The fire might never have occurred. The lobby shone with polished marble and gilded states adorned the alcoves. The Muses ringed the spacious room. Great vases of red roses rested to either side of the broad staircase. With a flourish and a gentle smile, Erik offered her one without thorns, adorned with a black velvet ribbon. She blushed slightly but accepted it.

The afternoon seemed to fly in the whirlwind tour of the building. The dormitories had also been improved for the comfort of their residents, and larger bedrooms had been designed to house those of higher position. The area backstage had been redone to increase its efficiency, and Christine spotted already prepared sets for the first production

"I can hardly believe this is real," she murmured.

"Do you like it?" Erik asked.

"Yes, it is amazing. However did you manage this?"

He just laughed. "There is still one thing yet to see," he informed her.

"What would that be?" she wondered curiously as he led her once more to the upper stories of the opera house. Madame Giry and Meg vanished below, warning them that the rehearsals would begin the following morning.

"You shall see."

Pausing a moment, Erik covered her eyes with one hand and took one of hers in his other. He guided her deftly up yet another flight of stairs and nudged a door open with his foot. Once they were in the room, he pulled his hand away. Christine turned on the spot, shock and adoration evident on her face.

"This is beautiful. What is it?"

"This will be our home," he admitted from behind her. "I had planned to use this design to build a home on the beach, but I thought it might be more suited here, for you."

Christine caught a glimpse of a bed carved in the shape of a swan beyond a doorway. "Did you bring that from your house on the lake?"

Erik looked that way as well. "Truthfully, no. This one was carved by one of the workmen."

She quickly entered the room and caressed the finely carved head. "It's beautiful, yet it seems much larger."

"It is. I had hoped that we would share this bed once we were wed."

Christine spun to face him and saw a glittering ring in his hand. "Are you…?"

Erik knelt before her. "Christine Daaé, I have loved you for so very long. Already you have accepted me to an extent I had not considered possible save in my most secret of dreams. Yet I do not find it to be enough. Now will you do me the greatest of honors and agree to marry me?"

Tears poured down her cheeks, yet she was scarcely aware of their existence. Her eyes were locked on the ring he offered, and on him. The ring was a delicate band of gold. The center was done in filigree with several tiny emeralds to either side of a flawless diamond. She touched it with cautious fingers. "I… Erik, yes! Of course I will marry you!"

He reverently placed the ring upon her finger and kissed it before leaping to his feet and pulling her closer until she was pressed fully against him, her head under his chin. He bent just a little and placed a warm and soft kiss against her lips.

"You cannot believe how happy you have made me, Angel," he murmured as he rested his uncovered cheek against her hair.

"No happier than you have made me," she assured him as she gazed at the beautiful ring now gracing her finger.

88888888

AN: Awww… I hope that was sufficiently sappy. So, as usual, please review! I only got two last time and was sad, so remember, reviews are good! Whatever you have to say to me, I'll take it. Just let me know what you think. Till next time!


	16. Chapter 16

AN: Wow, guys, so sorry for the massive delay. The best excuse I can offer is writer's block. And maybe the obsessive way I was listening to the "Love Never Dies" soundtrack and doing nothing else for a while, but that was about two weeks ago. But yeah, writer's block. As always, thanks to xXxMusexXx for beta-ing.

Disclaimer: Don't own, never will. Pity.

88888888

It was Christine's wish to visit the nearby church the following morning as Erik tended to the auditions. He, of course, disagreed.

"Moreau might be aware that we have returned to the city," he argued. "You would be risking capture."

"No one would harm a woman in a church. Erik, I have not gone since he first took me. It has been so long since I have confessed or heard Mass."

"Then we will attend Mass Sunday. I do not want you to go alone, Angel."

Christine sighed. "I do not wish for a guard. I merely wish to go to the church. The city is quite busy. How could he see me so easily?"

The argument continued in a similar vein before Erik finally acquiesced to her wishes. "As always, you shall have your way. Very well. However, you _must_ be back within two hours. Should something go wrong, take sanctuary in the church and I will come for you."

"Thank you," she said with a sweet smile. "I am glad you understand."

"I am not sure that I do," he answered. "Perhaps I should give you an escort."

Christine shook her head. "Erik, please. I enjoy your company and that of our friends, but there are times when I wish for solitude. Surely you can accept that."

Erik did, though very reluctantly. "Go, before I change my mind," he told her. "Christine… do be careful."

"I shall." The young woman promptly seized the opportunity and moved to the door of their home, already prepared for her brief journey. "I hope the auditions go well," she called back just as she slipped out.

Erik watched her go as he shook his head. "It would be a miracle if they did."

88888888

Christine passed easily through the crowded streets. There was still a touch of winter's chill in the air, so she eased her scarf over her head to shield herself from the wind. With that and her dark cloak, she supposed she was not easily distinguished from any others that walked the paths that day.

The church was not far, nor was it a grand place. It was a quiet and modest place that did not see many visitors save for during Mass. She had always enjoyed that, had reveled in the comfort of its open space after the cramped rooms of the opera. It was true that she had frequented the chapel there, but this place was solely for her to face God. The chapel in the opera had been for her angel. She knelt before the altar and crossed herself, sending her prayers to heaven. One priest watched briefly before touching her shoulder.

"Miss Daaé?" he asked softly.

She turned to meet his eyes. "Father Benoît."

"Good heavens, child, I am glad to see that you are well," the old man sighed. "I had heard of your kidnapping and feared you would be lost."

Christine smiled. "I am quite well, I assure you. I was rescued… twice, to speak truthfully."

"Twice? Dear girl, do tell me everything. I see also that you wear a different ring."

The priest led her to his small office and offered her a seat and a drink of water. She accepted both. The old man began to seat himself, but seemed restless and moved to stand before the window.

"By all means, Christine, tell me what has occurred. I am most curious. You might view this as a confession if you so desire. Nothing you say will pass beyond this room if you do not wish it."

"Thank you, Father," she breathed. "I had hoped to speak with you, but I do not wish to impose."

"It is no imposition. I have known you from a babe, my child, and I have been quite worried for your sake."

The entire story began to pour out- her unnamed dissatisfaction with her engagement to Raoul, her kidnapping, her shock at being rescued by Erik, and all those things that had befallen them. She had hesitated to speak of Erik's past, but in the end deemed it best to do so for both their sakes. It took near an hour, but by the end of that time she had revealed all that she knew. She had laughed and cried at various points, though tears were dominant, and the old priest had joined her on a few occasions. Once it was done, Father Benoît sat back and considered the tale.

"Father," she said hesitantly, "I had wished that you would be the one to marry Erik and I, should I convince him to agree. I do hope you do not judge him too harshly."

The old man eyed her sternly. "He carries a great many sins, dear girl. Do you think yourself safe with such a man?"

Christine did not hesitate, speaking with utter conviction. "Erik would _never_ hurt me. Father Benoît, he has suffered terribly for those wrongs he has committed. Can he be blamed for taking lives when they consented, sparing them a far more painful end? Would you condemn him for attempting to protect himself from those that had only meant him harm?"

"As truthful as that may be, there is a heavy penance for the taking of another's life."

"Has he not paid it?" she asked gently. "He has languished alone for so many years, shunned even by those who should have loved him. He has been tortured so many times simply for his face. Does not the Church understand that it was the acts of men that drove him to this rather than any will of his own?"

He smiled- just a little, but it gave Christine hope. "You seem a passionate defender. Have you forgiven his trespasses against you?"

"I have harmed him so much more than he did me. I can understand why he acted as he did when I did not give him those things he deserved. I would have saved all of us so much trouble had I understood my own heart."

"I had begun to wonder if ever you would," the priest observed.

"You knew?" she squeaked. Had she done so in Erik's presence she no doubt would have been scolded sternly for misusing the voice he had worked so hard to train.

"Dear child, I could see quite clearly that you did not love the Vicomte as you claimed. I had not realized, however, that your affections had fallen to such a man."

"He is not so terrible," she protested. "Perhaps he might seem to be, but he truly is a very kind man if he is given a chance. Father, he has done everything for me. He gave me my greatest dream and saved me when all seemed lost. It is true that he should not have pretended to be an angel, but even that I understand. He thought that he would be safe if I never knew him as a man."

Silence fell once more as the priest considered her sentiments. At last he sighed. "You have a gift for words, Christine. I will consider performing your marriage." Christine began to thank him, but he raised his hands. "I will not do so blindly. First I would prefer to speak with your fiancé. If I do not judge him safe, if he does not show remorse, I shall refuse."

"Erik has shunned religion, Father. He has suffered so long that he believes God has forsaken him. I do not know that he would come," she explained.

"Then you shall have to convince him, child. I know you wish for a wedding in the sanctity of the church. He cannot give you that if he will not enter."

Christine bowed her head in acceptance. "You speak truly. I will ask him, but I can do no more. Even should you choose to deny my request, I will still wed him. I cannot abandon him again. I am sorry." With that, she stepped from the room, intent to return to her home and her love.

888888888

Erik watched from the shadows as those wishing to audition began to gather in the opera's lobby. Many that had appeared had worked there previously, yet he spotted some that he recognized from Moreau's collection, those that he had freed from him the first time. There was also a lovely redhead that seemed familiar. A moment's consideration revealed her to be Clarisse, the performer from the Populaire that had led him to Christine when he first took her from Moreau.

Madame Giry moved to his side as she too surveyed those that had come. "There are many that will be shocked."

"Perhaps so. However, if they desire employment, they shall have to learn to cope. I do believe we should start with the chorus and ballet. The other singers will have to be done later."

"Have you spoken yet with Monsieur Reyer?" she questioned.

"Not as of yet, no. I have arranged to meet with him tomorrow, before those interested in joining the orchestra arrive. Should he be willing to return, things will be much simpler," Erik answered. He sighed. "I should think it is time to begin. Do ensure Meg is at the doors to keep them all from leaving directly."

"She is already there," his sister assured him.

Erik descended the steps. Eyes turned to him automatically, and several people took steps back. He was quite pleased, however, that there was no mass breakout of panic. Most milled uncertainly, not knowing what to think of the mysterious man in the white mask. After all, those few times he had appeared in the opera had been carefully contrived to conceal him. Had he worn the black mask of _Don Juan_ or the skull mask of the Red Death, there would have been no such uncertainty. He paused, still on the stairs, and spoke to the crowd.

"Welcome, Messieurs and Mesdames, to the Opera Populaire. My name…" Here Erik paused, uncertain. Would it be best to use the name of his birth, he wondered, or would the name he had made for himself prove more convenient. He sighed. "My name is Erik de Chagny, and I am the new owner of this opera house."

Whispers of "De Chagny?" and "Why a mask?" rippled through the room, though no one dared to speak too openly. He pressed on.

"However, for the purposes of privacy, I shall ask that I not be called such. For all matters that involve this, I will be referred to as Monsieur Destler, as it is inappropriate for a member of the aristocracy to perform publicly."

More whispers spread and a few began to back away again, seeming to suspect once more the identity of the new masked owner. Erik sighed. He glanced to his adoptive sister, who stepped forward with a list in hand.

"The auditions will begin with those interested in positions within the chorus or ballet," Madame Giry explained. "Those seeking to audition for singers' roles must unfortunately wait patiently until those have been completed."

Many of the performers settled at the familiar sight of the ballet mistress, and those girls that had been members of the ballet corps automatically stepped forward. Erik glanced to Madame Giry. The older woman nodded and directed everyone to the stage and informing those auditioning where to find practice dancewear.

The matter of the ballet was quickly settled. The chorus took little time as well, though of course there were a number of incidents when those seeking places were denied and fought his decision. It was the auditions for more important parts that proved trying. Particularly when La Carlotta put in an appearance.

"Where is this new manager?" Erik heard her shout in her shrill voice. He could not help the wince that followed. One of the men working in the Populaire attempted to head her off, but she pushed him aside and charged into the theater. He had already vanished into the shadows near the edge of the stage.

He certainly pitied Madame Giry as the presumptuous diva rounded on her. The ballet mistress frowned. "Signora Giudicelli, the manager has already selected a lady to be the lead soprano. Surely there is nothing to discuss."

"Who is it?" she demanded angrily. "I will have words with this little upstart! _I_ am the diva of the Opera Populaire!"

"Christine Daaé has consented to sing."

"Christine Daaé?" the redhead hissed. "That little toad?"

Erik could not resist stepping from the dense darkness. "A toad, Madame? Perhaps it is you that are the toad."

The range of expressions that crossed her face upon his appearance was almost amusing. Rage, shock, understanding, apprehension, fear, and uncertainty each had their moment. "You!"

His head tilted slightly to one side. "Yes?"

"You- you… you monster!" she spluttered. "How can you be manager here?"

"Monster?" he repeated. "Surely you jest, Signora Giudicelli. I am merely a man. As for my position here, I not only manage the Populaire, I am the patron and owner as well. This is now my opera house, as it always should have been, and you are not welcome here."

La Carlotta lifted her head arrogantly. "You cannot deny me an audition, nor a place in this theater."

He smiled pleasantly, but there was a wolfish glint in his eyes. "Why, yes, I can. Good day, Signora Giudicelli. Pray do not darken my doorstep again." He gestured to a few of the men. "Please see her out."

She went, but not without throwing a number of curses and threats in his direction. He ignored them easily. Instead, he began wondering where Christine was.

88888888

Christine walked in a leisurely fashion upon exiting the church, enjoying the gentle sunlight and the lack of a chaperone for the first time since she and Erik had escaped Moreau. A street market was doing good business as she passed through, and she lingered at a number of stalls as she examined their goods. At one, she purchased a small amount of strawberries. They would be a wonderful treat for her and Erik to share.

She gladly continued on her path to the opera, scarcely noticing that several men had begun to surround her. Eventually her mind realized and she paused. "May I help you?" she asked.

Abruptly she realized that she had not pulled her hood up upon leaving the church, which meant she could easily have been identified. She began to look a touch wildly for a way to slip free of the trap she had stepped into. A hand settled on her arm as another man broke through the ring and began to pull her away, tugging her hood into place as he did. A second man stepped forward and stared at the first before coming to her other side and hurrying her along.

Christine could hear the others pursuing them, so she did not seek to question those that had rescued her, merely allowing them to lead her through the crowds. She did hope they did not attract too much attention. Once they reached the plaza before the Populaire, the men urged her to a run, and she quickly obeyed. They raced up the steps and into the safety of the lobby.

One of her rescuers, the one that had first pulled her away, pushed back his hood.

"Giles!" she gasped.

He bowed slightly. "I am glad that I was in time, Miss Daaé. I had feared that I would find you too late."

Christine shook her head. "No, you were wonderful. Thank you so much. Were those…?"

"They were Moreau's men," he said grimly. "He had intended to capture you as you left the opera house, but you vanished into the crowd too quickly. I had hoped he would not see you as you returned."

Erik must have been summoned by one of the workers, as he strode swiftly into the lobby even as Giles' words left his mouth. "Christine?"

She all but flew into his comforting embrace, burying her face in his chest. His arms came up around her automatically. "Oh, Erik!"

"Angel, what has happened?" he pressed. He glanced at the men that stood at the base of the steps. "Monsieur Giles?"

"Monsieur Erik."

Erik's expression grew grim. "Moreau attempted to take her. I should never have allowed her to leave."

The other man offered a faint smile. "You cannot keep her here forever."

"No," Erik sighed. "I suppose I cannot. Thank you for saving her. You did, did you not?"

Giles nodded. "I was almost too late. And then this gentleman assisted me in bringing her here."

"And you are?" the masked man asked.

The second stranger revealed his face, and Erik gasped. "It is nice to see you doing so well, Erik."

"Daroga?"

"Daroga?" Christine repeated, curious. "Who…?"

The dark-skinned man bowed. "I am Nadir Khan, Miss Daaé. It is a pleasure to meet you at last."

"The Daroga is the Persian chief of police," Erik explained. "He is the man that assisted me in fleeing. What brings you here, Nadir?"

"I had received word of the scandal here last year, but could not come before now. It seems I came at a good time. I recognized Miss Daaé from the opera and understood that she would be safest if we brought her back here, as she was obviously being pursued." The Daroga paused and evaluated the place. "I see the décor has been changed. I imagine, actually, that a great many things have, that you would walk here openly."

Erik shook his head. "It is a long story. You will stay, will you not? And you, Giles? I imagine there is news." Both men agreed, and his attention shifted once more to his fiancée. "Christine, you should return to our rooms and rest. I must speak with Monsieur Giles and the Daroga."

She did consider offering an argument, but decided it best to heed his advice. She had not much exerted herself those past months and found that shock and the race to safety left her weary. She smiled. "I do believe I shall. Thank you, messieurs, for saving me."

She ascended the steps as the men watched. Erik sighed before facing the others. "Come, tell me everything."

He led them to a quiet practice room and they each took a seat. Erik's fingers tapped impatiently as he waited. Giles began.

"First, I should inform you that Moreau has been stripped of his title. It seems his family has caught wind of his misdeeds and thought it best that he be removed before those crimes stained all. A distant cousin has assumed that position."

"I am glad," Erik said with a touch of relief. "His position gave him power that I did not have the means to counter. Now we are on a more equal level. I will be free to deal with him as necessary."

"Have you yet gone to the gendarme?" Nadir enquired.

"No, not as of yet," Erik answered. "Christine and I just returned to Paris yesterday. I had intended to do so once things have settled here.

"You should do so," Giles frowned. "He has not yet given up his pursuit of you or Miss Daaé. The loss of his title has only spurred him to greater extremes. While he is free you are both in grave danger."

The once-Phantom sighed. "While the danger is greater to her, I do understand your meaning. Very well. I shall go to the inspector handling the case as soon as my appointments tomorrow are done." His eyes fell on the small covered basket the Daroga was holding. "What is that?"

He glanced at it as well. "I am not entirely certain. Miss Daaé was holding it when I crossed her path."

"Strawberries," Giles said abruptly. "She purchased them as she was returning. There is enough for two."

A smile graced Erik's features. "She truly is too good for one such as I."

Nadir shook his head. "My friend, after the things you have suffered, I do believe you of all men deserve such a woman. She seems to love you dearly."

"She does indeed, and there is nothing that brings me greater joy." He paused. "I proposed to her, just last night. We are to be married."

The Persian bounced to his feet. "Then I believe congratulations are in order. I wish you every happiness."

"Happiness may be difficult to attain while Moreau is on the loose," Giles cautioned. Erik only nodded.

After a few minutes more of talk between them, Erik rose. "You must excuse me, gentlemen. There are still many auditions I must see to this afternoon. If you speak with one of the staff, they will direct you to our flat. You may remain there if you have no other place to be."

"We would not want to disturb your lady," Nadir responded.

Erik shook his head. "I do not believe she is actually sleeping. I suspect she is merely reading on the sofa or something of that nature."

"I have no argument," Giles told them. "I do not intend to return to Moreau; I merely lingered as long as I did to bring you word, and you have already seen to my sister's safety. Perhaps you might like to have someone that will be able to guard Miss Daaé when you are not available to see to her safety personally."

"That would be excellent," Erik agreed.

88888888

Erik breathed a sigh of relief as the auditions were at last completed. Clarisse had done so well that he had selected her to act as Christine's understudy. Now all that remained was to issue instructions before he would be free to retire for the evening. The performers took seats as he stood on stage.

"First, there are rules to be established," he said firmly. "There will be no drinking during work. Those that do not heed me will quickly find that they will need to find another employer. I have seen the effects of liquor, and it severely detracts from those things that we do here."

There was a great deal of uneasy muttering, but no one left yet. He considered it a good sign. He glanced at his sister. Madame Giry nodded in absolute agreement.

"Rooms have been set in order for those that would prefer to live here, and those that so wish must speak with Madame Giry." His gaze swept those assembled. "I expect that you will heed my orders if you wish to remain here. I will not tolerate any instances of abuse of my staff. Those that do so will find themselves facing the gendarme. Your rank in this place is of little importance in this. Even the stars will very quickly lose their positions. This theater cannot run well if there is dissent between members.

"Finally, there are some more personal rules to state. I am neither patient nor particularly tolerant of foolish behavior. Do not trouble me with pettiness. I also will not permit any questions regarding my mask. It is a personal matter, and is not likely to change. I will allow you privacy in such matters and expect the same in return. Are there any questions? If so, now is the time to ask."

One of the young dancers got to her feet slowly. "Monsieur…. Are you… well… are you the Opera Ghost?"

Murmurs swept the room once more. Erik resisted the urge to scowl. "Yes. Rather, I was."

The whispers seemed to rise to a fever pitch, and a few half-rose to flee before Madame Giry stepped forward. "Do settle down."

Erik nodded his agreement. "For those of you familiar with the past incidents, there will be no such any longer. This is now my opera house, thus eliminating the need to act in such a manner. I expect hard work and loyalty, but it will be rewarded."

Clarisse pulled herself to the stage and faced the rest of the cast. "Monsieur Destler rescued myself and a number of others here from the clutches of a madman. He is not so terrible as the stories say."

A rare smile of appreciation crossed his face as the murmurs became confused. With time, the room grew quiet with wary acceptance. He waited a beat to be sure.

"That shall be all for now. Good day."

88888888

AN: And that's that. I did say that the mess with Moreau wasn't done just yet. Plus, the Persian puts in an appearance! So yeah, good stuff. Now, as always, I love hearing what you guys have to say, whatever it may be! Questions, comments, concerns, suggestions, praise, disagreement, whatever. Please review! Till next time!


	17. Chapter 17

AN: Sorry for the lateness, guys. I actually finished this chapter about a week ago, but there was a delay in beta-ing due to, I assume, real life issues. We can't be on the computer all the time, after all. As always, thanks for the beta-ing, xXxMusexXx, and I hope your life gets a little less hectic.

Disclaimer: Yeah, I own nothing. Obviously that includes Phantom of the Opera.

88888888

Christine briefly suggested that Erik join her at the church, but he hardly heard her as he considered the meetings he had to see to that day. First he hoped to lure Monsieur Reyer back to the Populaire, and then there would be the auditions for the orchestra. After that he had to visit the police inspector regarding Moreau.

He had discussed it with Christine previously, and they had agreed that she would remain in the Populaire while he spoke to the _gendarme_. However, she had posed the possibility that she join him when he spoke to Monsieur Reyer.

"He already knows me," she observed calmly. "I will set him more at ease."

Erik watched her from across his desk. "Do you mean to say that I would intimidate him?" Christine merely lifted one shoulder in response. He laughed. "Yes, perhaps you are correct. It would not do well to antagonize him now. Surely though you have things you would prefer to boring meetings?"

She shook her head. "There is little to do until the theater is ready to begin rehearsals. If you are not with me, I am quite bored."

He rose and draped his arms around her shoulders. "Never let it be said that I defied your wishes. If you are not opposed, I would be glad to have you join this meeting. You are, after all, the star, dear Angel."

"Only because of you."

There was a gentle knocking on the oak doors leading to Erik's grand office. He stepped away with some reluctance. "Come in."

Madame Giry slipped in a moment later. "Erik, Monsieur Reyer is in the lobby. Meg is waiting with him. Shall I send him up, or would you like a bit more time?"

He shook his head. "Well… He _is_ rather early. Our meeting was scheduled for this afternoon. However, I _am _eager to settle this. By all means, send him up at once."

The ballet mistress exited. Erik looked at Christine. He knew by society's standards her apparel, a ballerina's warm up outfit, was inappropriate, but it mattered little to him. She had intended to dance today, after all. While he was gone on business she was to be assisting Madame Giry with the ballet corps. His own clothing remained the same as ever, wearing as he was one of his many black suits, white mask set firmly in place. He had, for the time being, discarded his cloak.

Monsieur Reyer stepped in and extended one hand. "Isaac Reyer, at your service."

Erik shook his head. "Erik de Chagny, at yours, though I use the surname Destler for business. I am sure you remember Miss Christine Daaé."

Monsieur Reyer bowed. "Miss Daaé, a pleasure as always."

She nodded. "I am pleased to see you again, Monsieur."

Pleasantries done, the conductor faced the Populaire's new owner. "De Chagny, you said? Shall I assume you are related to the Vicomte?"

"The Vicomte de Chagny is my younger brother, though we were sadly estranged for many years." Christine nearly choked at the statement, eyeing Erik curiously. "I have only recently been reunited with my family. The Populaire was a gift."

"By estranged, are you referring to the… _incident_ during your opera?"

Christine and Erik froze. "I am surprised you deduced my identity so quickly, Monsieur," Erik said finally. "I had expected suspicion, yes, yet you seem most confident that you are correct."

"I am a musician, Monsieur Opera Ghost. I recognized your voice. It is quite distinct."

Erik shook his head, chuckling faintly. "Bravo, then. Yes, you are quite right. I was the man known as the Phantom of the Opera."

"And you wish for me to be in your employ. What sort of motivation might I expect?" Monsieur Reyer asked.

"I do not intend to threaten or otherwise force you to rejoin the opera house," the masked man sighed. "The decision is solely yours, though I shall assure you that there will be a generous salary."

"Should I agree, would there be issues with loose scenery or perhaps an unstable chandelier?"

"Of course not," Christine answered. "Those things occurred because the previous managers did not heed his warnings. Erik is the manager now, so there is no need for such accidents. Monsieur Reyer, those things occurred for my sake. I am now where he desired me to be."

"I take it you are to be the lead soprano, Mademoiselle?"

She nodded, eyes sparkling. "It is what I have always wanted. Unless you do not think me capable?"

Monsieur Reyer frowned mildly. "That is certainly not my opinion. You are quite gifted. I merely question the reason you gained such a position."

Erik growled low in his throat. "If you are making aspersions against Christine's character…"

"Do settle yourself, Monsieur Destler. Your reaction was answer enough. I have faith that she will be a splendid leading lady. Now, there are some conditions I must state regarding accepting your offer."

"And what would they be?" Erik asked as he forced back his temper.

"I do not wish for La Carlotta to have any part of this theater."

Erik threw back his head and laughed. "I will agree to that easily. I had her escorted out just yesterday. I would not permit her any role, you may rest assured."

"I wish to be allowed to select the musicians myself. If I accept this position, I want to have full control."

The once-Phantom nodded slowly. "I can accept that, though I do hope I will be permitted to assist. I know many instruments."

"I will remember. Those are my conditions," Monsieur Reyer said. "If you are willing to agree, I will return to the Populaire."

"We are agreed. Welcome back, Monsieur Reyer."

"Will you be so kind as to tell me when to expect auditions to begin?" he asked.

"Those seeking a place should begin arriving within the hour. I suspect many will have been employed here previously. Monsieur, I would suggest selecting the most skilled you might possibly find. We have very little time," Erik finished.

"Little time? When, may I ask, do you intend to begin?"

"I expect to be ready in one month's time."

"One month?" the conductor gasped. "You seek a miracle! The musicians can be ready in that time, but I do not think the others are capable of the same."

Erik smiled. "It shall not be as difficult as you might think. Many of my actors have worked here previously, and the leads already know their parts."

"I realize that Miss Daaé may be prepared, but who is to sing the tenor's role? What is the opera?"

"The opera is to be my own _Don Juan_, and I am to sing the Don."

Monsieur Reyer gaped as Christine led him from the office.

88888888

Since the meeting had ended early and productively, Erik chose to proceed immediately to the police station. Summoning a carriage from the opera stables, he ordered the driver there and settled into its dark interior.

The drive was mercifully brief and he was soon stepping through the doors leading into the station. He paused at the desk and requested the inspector responsible for the case. The officer working informed him that it would be a few minutes. Erik leaned against the wall to wait.

Ten minutes upon his arrival, the inspector stepped from his office and beckoned him forward. "I am Inspector Simon Arceneau. Who might you be?"

"Erik Destler. I am here regarding the Christine Daaé kidnapping."

The older man arched one brow. "Are you now? Very well. Do join me in my office."

Erik followed, noting that the inspector was perhaps twice his age and dressed in a civilian's simple black suit. His hair was salt and pepper, and he stood about two inches shorter. The office he was led to was scarce more than a whitewashed box with two chairs and a desk. A small window offered some mild relief to the enclosed sense the room created. Inspector Arceneau gestured idly to one seat. Erik accepted it without a word.

"Monsieur Destler, was it?" the inspector said finally. "How can I help you?"

"I was told to see you. No doubt the Vicomte de Chagny has already reported that Miss Daaé had been rescued once and subsequently retaken."

"With another man, yes, though he was rather scarce on detail. An Antoinette Giry claims to have been witness."

"Antoinette is my adoptive sister. She was indeed there," Erik admitted.

Inspector Arceneau seated himself behind the desk. "Yes, her account was most convincing. She had said that you were kidnapped as well. I assume this means you have escaped?"

"Do not take me for a fool. No doubt Monsieur le Vicomte has already informed you that Christine and I managed to free ourselves several months ago. I am here to allow you whatever questions you wish to ask in order to apprehend our abductor."

"I have some questions, certainly, but most are not in regards to your kidnapper," the inspector said. "Were you aware that years ago I was employed in Rouen?"

"No, I was not," Erik answered tersely. "I fail to see the relevance."

"Then tell me your name. Honestly, this time. I know you are not Erik Destler. Not by birth."

The masked man's lips tightened faintly. "I am Erik Destler, as I have already said."

"De Chagny," Arceneau corrected. "Your name is Erik de Chagny."

His hands fisted. "What do you know of me? Nothing. If you refuse to assist in the matter of our kidnapping, I will find someone that will."

"I did not say that I did not intend to aid you," the inspector commented mildly. "You are terribly angry to hear the name you were born to. Why is that, I wonder?"

"If you already know that name," Erik growled, "you should already be aware of why I might not like to hear it. Already it has been heard too many times in recent months. I would thank you not to press the matter, Monsieur."

"Is your family aware that you are alive?"

"What concern is it of yours?" he asked in a very strained tone.

The inspector met his eyes. "As I have said, I worked in Rouen. A few days after you disappeared, your father approached me. He asked that I look for you. Oh, it took a long time before I had even a hint of where you might be. Near to three months after you ran away, I found a young woman that said she had seen you.

"She was pregnant then. When I found her she had a newborn in her arms. She told me that a curious little boy in a mask had a run-in with some gypsies. Pregnant as she was, she could do nothing to aid him, though she had wished she could. It was then that I began to suspect that perhaps you had survived, but your mother had come to me and asked that no word be given without certainty. I never told them. To this day I imagine they continue to believe you dead."

"The Comte and Comtesse have seen me. Does that answer your question, or must we continue in so unpleasant a vein?" Erik said stiffly.

Arceneau shook his head. "I do think that is enough. No doubt they were able to discern the truth of your identity as I did. However, were you aware that I was the inspector assigned to the mystery of the Phantom of the Opera? Imagine my surprise when the Vicomte came to me speaking of a man that had been trapped by gypsies once. I refused to give him the men to hunt the Phantom, suspecting that the opera ghost might in fact have been his brother."

"Thank you," Erik snapped. "To business? If you do not mind?"

"Yes, yes. Madame Giry says that you and Miss Daaé were kidnapped by the Marquis Jean-Laurent Moreau. Is this correct?"

With immense effort, the once-Phantom forced back his temper. "Yes, though he is now the ex-Marquis. It seems his family has disowned him."

"Is that so? I had not heard. Tell me what you can, then."

88888888

Erik had never been fond of police stations, and he hurried from this one as rapidly as he could without running. He leapt into his carriage and roughly barked to return to the Populaire.

Once there, he strode immediately to the stage. Christine was there with Meg and Madame Giry, speaking to the ballerinas.

"Christine," he called.

She turned immediately. "Erik! Oh, just a few moments. I will join you in your office, if I may."

"Of course. There is no need to hurry."

Erik entered the solitude of his office gratefully, slumping into his chair and dropping his head to his arms. True to her word, Christine joined him moments later.

"Dear Angel, whatever is the matter?" she asked gently, perching against the edge of his desk and caressing his hair. "Did the _gendarme _give you trouble?"

He sighed and shook his head. "It is not important. They have increased the search for Moreau, but the inspector warns that we must remain vigilant."

"Something is troubled you," she observed.

He stood and engulfed her once more in his embrace. "It is naught, Christine. I assure you, now that I am with you, it no longer matters."

Christine considered for a second, but accepted his words. "What shall we do about Moreau?"

"We shall continue as we have, I suppose. You know I do not like to trap you, but we mustn't risk Moreau stealing you away once more."

She frowned. "I do wish some time by myself."

"I know," he murmured against her riotous curls. "I do understand. I too am unaccustomed to constant companionship. Once this is over, between seasons, I will take you away. To Italy, perhaps. Or we might return to Sweden. There would be no one else but us."

Her arms encircled his neck. "It sounds wonderful, Erik. This cannot last forever… can it?"

"I do not know. Now, you spoke this morning of the church. Did you forget something while you were there?"

"No," she replied. "The father there wishes to speak with you."

His muscles tensed against her. "And why might that be?"

Christine hesitated. "I had asked him to perform our marriage, but he has said he will not do so if he is not satisfied that I am safe. I spoke," she winced, "of your past. I needed to."

"Is this your desire?" he sighed.

"It is."

"Angel, I have already suffered far more inquiries regarding my past than I care for. Why must I be subjected to another for a God that abandoned me long ago?"

"You know I have always wished to wed in a church, Erik. Father Benoît merely wants to be sure that you have repented. I do not think he will pry too much."

Erik touched his bare cheek to her hair. "If this is so important to you… so be it. However, I am quite weary of others for now. Perhaps tomorrow would be better."

"Whatever suits you," she answered. "I am done for today. How shall we pass the evening?"

"Would you sing for me?" Erik requested.

"Would you play for me?" she countered with a smile.

"Of course I shall accompany you," he answered with a faint smile of his own.

"Then I shall quite enjoy singing for you, my strange Angel."

88888888

Rehearsals started in earnest the next day, but Erik was convinced that he and Christine would not be needed immediately. Madame Giry was quite capable of managing in his absence. He hailed Nadir and Giles.

"Christine wishes me to accompany her to church this morning," he explained rapidly. "Due to the situation at hand, I cannot risk a chance of our driver being attacked and substituted with another. Would you perhaps be willing to act as our escort?"

Giles nodded easily, as did the Daroga. "Whatever you need," the Persian assured him. "I have no task requiring my attention now. When do you wish to leave?"

"Christine should be ready within a few minutes. The carriage should already be prepared."

"I will see that it is," Giles decided. He exited the lobby and made for the stables near the back of the building.

"Erik?" Christine called from the landing above. "Are you ready to leave?"

"Yes. And you?"

The young soprano hurried down the steps. "Yes, I do believe so. Shall we be going? Are we to walk?"

Erik shook his head. "The Daroga and Monsieur Giles are escorting us in the carriage, Angel."

Her face fell slightly. "Oh."

He smiled faintly. "Don't fret so, Christine. I know you wish for time to yourself, but Moreau already knows of that church. If we were to walk we would be in danger. If it eases your mind, you may feel free to act in whatever way you wish whilst we are there. I will not follow if you do not desire my presence."

She slowly returned the smile. "I suppose you are correct, as always. At least I will be able to pray."

He brushed his hand against her chocolate tresses. "I am sorry that I must restrict you so."

She leaned into the caress. "I know. Do not let it worry you; I shall be fine."

Erik offered her his arm. "Shall we go? I do have some business to see to this afternoon."

Christine blushed, just a touch. "I apologize for dragging you away."

"It is no real trouble."

He led her to the carriage, and she settled herself easily into the seat. He took the one opposite her. Nadir and Giles leapt to the driver's bench. The drive was brief and mercifully uneventful, and soon they were stepping through the church's doors.

Erik hung back uneasily as Christine entered, moving immediately to the altar and kneeling before it. He had not chosen to enter a place of worship for many years, save the chapel in the Populaire, and then it had only been for her. To lessen his discomfort, he watched her with a careful eye. An elderly priest spoke to her for a moment before walking in Erik's direction.

"Monsieur… I beg your pardon; I do not know how to address you. Is it Destler or de Chagny?"

Erik met his eye. "It is Destler by preference, but you may choose whichever you might think best."

"I wonder, Monsieur, which name you intend to give to Miss Daaé." The priest abruptly realized that he had not introduced himself. "Oh, my apologies. I am Father Benoît."

The masked man bowed his head slightly. "A pleasure, I am sure."

"Indeed. I imagine you do not care to discuss your past in so public a venue. Would you prefer to speak in my office?"

Erik surveyed the interior of the sanctuary. "I would prefer to keep Christine in sight, Father, if that is no difficulty."

"She is free to join us if that is your wish."

He shook his head. "She has been forced to endure a great deal of constant company. I do not wish to impose on her now. There are few enough people here. If we speak softly I would suggest we merely take a seat in the pews."

The two men settled near the back of the church, though Erik's eyes remained trained on his fiancée. The elder watched for a moment before speaking.

"Christine has said a great deal of you."

"Yes, she has told me that she did."

"Do you love her, Monsieur?"

The question was very direct, and Erik's gaze turned from Christine. "I beg your pardon?"

"I asked if you loved her," the priest repeated. "It surely cannot be a difficult question."

"No, though it was rather abrupt," Erik muttered. "Yes, I love her. I have loved her for a long time and will never cease. Is that what you wished to know?"

"It is certainly a beginning," Father Benoît said. "Christine has led me to believe that you regret your sins. Is this true?"

"Many of those things I have done that the church has named sinful were not what I wished to do. I have long regretted them. I do not enjoy taking lives, and I do so only to spare myself or others."

"You would not hurt her?"

"Father, you say Christine has already told you these things. Do you think her so gullible that she would believe me if I were to lie?" Erik drawled.

He shook his head. "Christine has believed your mistruths before, or have you forgotten the Angel of Music?"

The masked man tipped back his head, staring at the vaulted ceiling. "I had long lacked contact with the world. One day so many years ago, suspecting myself alone, I was singing. I had not realized that Christine was near. When she asked me if I was the Angel her father had promised… I could not find it in me to deny her the comfort she craved so desperately."

Father Benoît did not speak for some time, merely watching as Erik looked to Christine once more. It was the look in his eyes that spoke most clearly, in the priest's opinion. Erik seemed a hard and reserved man, but when he saw Christine, there was such gentleness… such love… The father sighed.

"I cannot deny that you each seem wholly devoted to the other. I will not argue further against your marriage. Merely speak a date and I will be at your disposal."

"Such matters are Christine's to determine," Erik stated. "She has long dreamt of her wedding, and I want her to have it precisely as she wishes."

"May I be permitted to ask you to do something?" Father Benoît asked.

"It rather depends on the nature of your request, does it not?" the once-Phantom responded.

"May I be permitted to see your face?" Erik tensed, and the priest hastened to elaborate. "You need not fear that it will distress me. I have worked before with the victims of war and have seen many terrible injuries. I simply suffer curiosity, I am afraid."

"I should think not," Erik answered stiffly. "Though rather less than crowded, I do not wish to cause a riot."

"Erik?" Christine said as she joined them. "Dear Angel, what is bothering you?"

"It is my fault, dear girl," the priest told her. "I was overly curious."

The soprano's eyes moved between the men, noting the older man's gaze upon the white leather of Erik's mask. "I see."

Erik closed his eyes for a moment before rising. "We should return to the Populaire if there is nothing else to be said here."

"Father Benoît, have you agreed?" the young diva pressed with noticeable enthusiasm.

"I have indeed," said the old priest. "If you will kindly contact me with the details, I will gladly officiate at your marriage."

"Thank you!" she beamed, embracing him. "Oh, I am so pleased."

"I am glad," Erik said, expression softening at the joy in hers.

"We should return," Christine realized. "I am sure there is much to be done in the Populaire since the cast is complete. There is so little time!"

Noting the priest's confusion, Erik elaborated. "The opera house is to reopen in a month's time for its first performance. It will be close, but we shall be ready."

"I am sure you will do splendidly. Might I have a quick word with Christine before you leave?" Erik nodded, and Father Benoît led her just a short way away. "What do you know of Monsieur Erik's physical condition, dear girl?"

Christine frowned. "I know that he was wounded while we were trapped, but the wounds have healed. To my knowledge he is in good health."

"He is in pain, Christine. You should press him to visit a physician before it worsens. I suspect it centers around the injury to his face."

88888888

AN: So, that's that, and again, I'm sorry for the delay. Hopefully everyone likes it! As always, reviews are amazing things and encourage me tons. My other story I'm working on lately is shorter than this one and has 8 more reviews. So please let me know what you think! Till next time!


	18. Chapter 18

AN: So yeah… I know this is a long time in coming. No one's too mad, are they? No? Good. At least I finally got through it- I had some very severe writer's block on this chapter and had a hard time with the technical details. Actually, it was just the wording that wasn't working. The ideas have been there for a while. So I know you don't care about what I'm saying here. Just read the chapter. Oh, and thanks to xXxMusexXx for beta-ing, like always.

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom- I just visit frequently.

88888888

Christine watched Erik cautiously during the return trip, but did not speak. Erik merely waited, knowing that she would eventually give voice to whatever worried her. Even as they reached the steps of the opera house, Christine held her tongue. Through the Populaire, nothing still. It was not until they had reached their flat that she seemed ready to speak.

"Are you all right?" she asked finally.

Erik paused, unsure. "I apologize, Angel, but I do not understand. I am quite well. It is you that seems distressed."

"I'm worried about you," Christine admitted in a low voice. "Before we left… Father Benoît says you are in pain, Erik. Is he right?"

Her quiet words caught him off guard, and he was forced to decide if it was best to lie or to remain honest. At the moment, he chose silence and watched her with uncertainty in his eyes.

"He was right," she said miserably. "Whatever is the matter? Did your wounds not heal properly?"

"They healed as well as could be expected," he responded. "There are some scars, but nothing too serious. The wounds do not bother me."

"Then what is it?"

Again, his silence revealed more than his words might have. He could see in her eyes that she had begun to reach a new conclusion, one that he expected would be correct. "My face is not as painless as I would like," admitted Erik with considerable reluctance. "Since… well. Those cuts seem to have aggravated an already painful injury. The mask no longer soothes the ache."

She seemed so sad. "See a doctor," Christine urged. "Surely a good physician might be able to help."

Erik shook his head. "There is nothing to be done."

"At least they might be able to give you something for the pain," she pressed. "Medicine is improving so quickly. There must be _something_."

"There is not," he said, more coldly now. "I have wished as much for many years, but I have already done what little can be. To seek a physician would merely waste my time. There is a great deal that must be done here."

For a moment, Christine wavered, but she abruptly crossed her arms and frowned. In another situation, dressed as she was in a demure blue gown and obviously far smaller and frailer than he, he might have found the sight amusing. Now he wondered if he had perhaps been a bad influence on the once timid woman. She had not dared to defy him so before. Not to his face.

"No, it is not a waste," she argued. "Even if you will not do it for your sake, can you not do it for mine? I do not like to know that you are in pain if there is even the slightest chance that something may be done to help."

"I have said I will not."

Her doe brown eyes narrowed in consideration. "You must."

"And why must I?" he asked, already exasperated.

"Because if you will not, I will not sing."

88888888

They had argued further after that. Erik did not appreciate being blackmailed. Christine held fast. He left in frustration, seeking out his sister for advice. He quickly explained what had happened.

"See a doctor," Madame Giry said bluntly.

He frowned. "I have already said that it is pointless."

Antoinette sighed. "I know what you have said, Erik. I also know that Christine can be as stubborn as you. She wants to be sure you are well. Would it really be so terrible to give in?"

"I do not care to reveal my face," Erik said drily. "I am sure you know why."

"Physicians see a great many terrible injuries. They might react poorly at first, but they would understand and be willing to help."

"It does not change the truth of the matter. There is nothing that can be done."

Madame Giry shook her head. "Just visit a physician. It cannot hurt. There has been word recently of a new doctor recently arrived from England that does very well with facial injuries. Perhaps he may be able to assist you."

He considered. "Is this man discreet?"

"I have heard only good things of him, and his patients say that he has a gift."

"Very well," Erik said finally. "Please make the appointment for me, or I may change my mind."

Madame Giry nodded and hurried from the room, calling Meg to accompany her. Erik turned up the stairs to speak with Christine and assure her that he was doing as she wished.

88888888

When the Girys returned, Erik and Christine had joined the rest of the cast for rehearsal and were practicing the scene after 'Point of No Return'. Christine's eyes lit when she saw them.

"Did you make the appointment?" she asked as soon as they paused for a break.

Madame Giry nodded. "Dr. Edwards agreed to meet Erik tomorrow morning."

"That is excellent!" Christine exclaimed.

Erik sighed. "When am I expected?"

"Half past seven," Meg answered. "He thought you would prefer to arrive before any of his other patients."

"Thank you. I am glad he considers such things."

88888888

Christine wanted to accompany him, but Erik insisted that he go alone.

"I am no child in need of coddling," he said with faint amusement. "I assure you, I am perfectly capable of seeing a doctor unsupervised."

She frowned prettily. "I do not want you to feel alone."

"I will be fine, Angel. As much as I do not care for this venture, it is no real imposition."

After a short discussion, she agreed to remain at the Populaire and to see to rehearsals. Giles was to remain with her for protection while the Daroga accompanied Erik. Nadir readied an open carriage and both men took their seats as the Persian took the reins.

"Are you truly all right with this?" Nadir asked as he nudged the horses forward. "I know you do not care to be seen."

"An open carriage is not particularly bothersome."

"I meant the doctor, Erik."

A faint smile ghosted across his features. "I know what you meant. You know I do not wish to see a physician, but Christine was insistent and her peace of mind matters more. I can tolerate a short examination."

"And if there is something he can do?"

Erik shook his head and looked out over the streets. "In all my years, I have heard nothing of a way to repair my face. I do not think there is anything to be done."

Nadir sighed and turned his attention to driving.

88888888

The nurse sent Erik directly to the doctor's office.

"He has not arrived yet," she explained, "but he should be in shortly. Make yourself comfortable."

The office was not too dissimilar from Erik's own, done in dark wood with black leather seats. One curtained window was in the side wall. Erik imagined that when it was opened it would flood the room with sunlight even in such early hours. Except the window and door, bookcases lined the room. He took the visitor's chair and waited.

Several minutes passed in relative silence, but Erik's sensitive ears detected a person nearing almost a full minute before the heavy oak doors were thrown open and a tall but thin man hurried in.

"I do beg your pardon for your wait, sir," he said briskly, in good French. He seemed to Erik a very energetic sort, and indeed the other man did not seat himself, but flitted around the office without coming to rest. At one moment, he would be opening a book in search of something- the next, he would be dashing off a note at his desk.

"It was no trouble," Erik answered coolly. "I appreciate your consideration in suggesting that I come early."

"Yes, yes, Mrs. Giry did tell me that you are somewhat of a hermit by nature."

The once Phantom wondered if the doctor had yet taken the time to look at him. "Perhaps not by nature, but by habit. I am not accustomed to crowds and prefer to avoid them when possible."

When there was no immediate reply, Erik sat back and observed. His initial impression of energy seemed entirely correct as the doctor continued to dash about. His name had been Dr. Edwards, he recalled, a British physician only recently arrived in Paris. The man himself was indeed very tall and thin, a few inches taller than Erik himself, with a wild mop of brown hair and light green eyes. He was rather informally attired, wearing only simple trousers and a tunic, topped with a coat against the lingering chill. Erik's dark suit seemed a stark contrast.

After several such minutes, the good doctor finally took his seat behind the desk and appraised his new patient. "I should apologize. I have neither introduced myself nor requested your name. I am Dr. Jonathon Edwards. No doubt you have been informed that I specialize in facial trauma and repair."

Erik inclined his head. "My name is Erik Destler. You come highly recommended, Doctor."

"Do I?" the man said, startled. "I was rather under the impression that the French did not much care for my efforts. I am told that my methods are barbaric and have no chance of working."

"I care little for the sentiments of the populace. My sister tells me that you may be able to help, and you have already proven discreet at least, and in my opinion that is no small matter."

"Ah, yes," Edwards nodded. His face had become shrewd and appraising rather than the perhaps strange and buoyant fellow that had first appeared. "May I ask that you remove the mask?"

"I do not think there is anything you can do to help me. I merely wish to be told as much so that I may placate my fiancée."

"Perhaps that is so, but I would prefer to ascertain that for myself. I have seen cases previously thought hopeless before that were not as impossible as the patients had thought."

Erik frowned. "I would prefer first to hear something of your work, if that is to be the case."

The doctor folded his hands beneath his chin and stared at him intently. "Very well. I studied medicine in London first, unsurprisingly. I was perhaps moderately skilled at the time, but I decided not too long upon completing my schooling that there had to be more than they had given me. I began traveling, using my training to pay the bills. With time I arrived in India. The locals were remarkably willing to share what they knew.

"They told me of a practice they had used for centuries to repair injuries caused by burns or other such accidents- a surgical technique that requires taking a piece of skin and moving it to the damaged site. I was allowed to observe it being done twice, and assisted in several others. I brought that knowledge back to Europe, but it seems most are unwilling to believe in its efficacy. However, a few of my patients have been willing to make the attempt and have, I understand, made a complete recovery."

"That is a rather wild story," Erik observed as he leaned back. "Yet I do believe I have heard word of this procedure. It was long ago, and only briefly mentioned, so I had all but forgotten. I was told that properly done, it is quite effective in reducing the scarring from injuries. I have never heard that it can be used to repair a very old injury."

"In truth, I know little more than you on this count. Perhaps the procedure is not suited for your particular case, but surely it cannot hurt to do an evaluation."

The once Phantom agreed reluctantly and accompanied the doctor to an examination room down the hall, seating himself on the table and very slowly removed the protection of his white mask.

To Dr. Edwards' credit, he did not react at all to the disfiguration. There was neither horror nor disgust in his expression as he carefully examined the miniature ridges and valleys beneath Erik's eye.

"How did this occur?"

"Is that really necessary information?" he asked stiffly.

Dr. Edwards shrugged. "You needn't give me any personal details. Merely the method of injury and the time since will suffice."

"Acid burn. I was an infant at the time." His answer was short and cold.

"Really?" the Englishman seemed rather interested. "It is a most curious thing that it would have healed in this fashion. Most acid burns do not allow the skin to return, yet clearly this is living tissue. How did you acquire these scars? They seem rather recent."

"Again, I do not wish to speak of it."

"You _do_ seem to keep a great many secrets. I shan't press further. They are knife wounds, are they not?"

"Yes."

Edwards settled his hip against a counter and began writing his observations on a clipboard. Erik waited for some time as the doctor muttered to himself.

"Am I eligible for this miracle procedure or am I not?" Erik asked finally, lips quirked in a wry smile.

"Oh!" the physician started. "I apologize, I was most caught up in your case. You do seem to heal remarkably well. No, I believe you would actually be a most prime candidate, Mr. Destler. I cannot guarantee results, to my regret, but I will gladly give it my best effort."

"You mean to say," Erik said slowly, "that you can repair my face."

"Again, I can make no promises, but I do think it is possible, even probable if what I have seen is any indication of your powers of recuperation. If you will answer a few questions for me regarding your general health, I will determine a suitable time to schedule the surgery."

Erik replaced his mask and shrugged. "Then ask."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-three, I believe."

Edwards' brow lifted, but he didn't comment. "Have you suffered any sort of illness within the past six months?"

"No."

"Any sort of injury?"

Erik paused before nodding. "The wounds below my eye, as well as others on my hands and back."

The doctor paused in his writing. "That might be troublesome if they did not heal well. May I be allowed to see them?"

The once Phantom stripped his gloves away without qualm. His hands had gladly escaped any severe scarring and were for the most part unblemished. Some smaller scars crossed his fingers, but they were faint. Edwards prodded at them delicately before nodding.

"They seem to have healed nicely. Might I ask you to remove your shirt?"

This Erik did with more reluctance, removing his jacket, vest, cravat and shirt before turning slowly to permit the doctor to examine his back. He knew well the pattern of overlapping scars that marred the skin there.

The doctor frowned. "My goodness, you have lived a traumatic life, have you not? Some of these are very old." He ran his fingers over them carefully, seeking any signs of tenderness or inflammation. He found none and nodded sharply. "Well, painful though they may have been, I do not see any danger to them now. You are very lucky. In most cases wounds such as these could have killed a man, and I suspect the oldest were inflicted on a child. Your ability to survive is most impressive."

He seated himself once more against the counter, writing on the clipboard. Erik watched coolly. Finally the doctor set his notes aside. A large smile brightened his face, making his green eyes shine.

"How soon would you be available for the surgery?"

88888888

Erik frowned. "You mean that you will operate?"

"Why, of course!" Edwards exclaimed. "I think it will go quite well, and should indeed be able to repair the damages to your face. I will repeat, again, that I cannot promise the desired results, but in my professional opinion your chances are very good."

"That is an optimistic statement. I hope you are not exaggerating."

"No, no," the doctor disagreed, shaking his head. "You have a very good chance, Mr. Destler. More, there is no reason to delay the procedure. Your health is impressive. I would think that we might do so within a few days, if you wish to. Even tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? So soon?"

"Is that a problem?" Edwards asked. "Oh. I am sure you have other obligations. My apologies. At your convenience, then."

Erik smiled thinly. "Tomorrow will do nicely, I think. How long will it take?"

"The surgery itself is rather brief, no more than a few hours even if complications arise. It is recovery that will be more demanding of your time. I would not want you to leave the hospital until the next day at least, to be certain that an infection does not set in."

"Very well. Tomorrow morning, I will be here."

88888888

Erik made arrangements for his absence immediately. Giles and the Daroga were tasked with protecting Christine while he was away. With some effort, Erik convinced her to promise that she would not leave the Populaire unaccompanied. To explain, he told her that he had business at his manor, several hours' ride from the opera house. He assured her that he would return within three or four days, and asked that she ensure that progress continued with the rehearsals.

Nadir frowned at him as he packed a few things. "Your manor runs quite well without your attention."

"I have been away for some time. Whether it does or not, I prefer to see it for myself."

"You do not lie as well as you once did."

Erik stopped and stared at him. "I do not know what you are referring to."

The Persian sighed. "You are not going to your estate, are you? What are you doing, Erik?"

The once Phantom placed his black mask in the bag lying on the bed and straightened. "No, I am not going to my estate. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"No. I want to know where you _are_ going and why you are lying to your fiancée."

Erik seated himself on the edge of his bed. "If you are worried that I am going after Moreau or something of that nature, you needn't. I have no intention of chasing him down quite yet."

"That does not really help," Nadir said drily.

"Perhaps not," Erik admitted. "Still, I am not doing anything foolhardy or fleeing authorities. I am simply taking care of something important."

"That being…?"

He shook his head. "I prefer to keep some secrets still, Daroga. It is not going to harm anyone, so there is nothing to fear."

Nadir reluctantly let that be the end of the discussion.

88888888

Christine bid him farewell on the steps of the Populaire in rather good cheer, though she was not pleased to be left behind. However, the lure of performing was great, and she was glad to have the opportunity to practice without Erik's strict presence. The members of the opera house were calmer while he was away, still uncertain as they were of his nature.

"I will not be away for more than a few days," Erik assured her.

"I know. Come home soon."

"I will, dear Angel." His black horse, Caesar, was already saddled, and he swung into place easily. "Farewell, for now."

He urged the horse forward but kept his eyes locked with hers until Madame Giry ushered Christine into the opera house. Once he had seen her go, he turned his attention to the street and passed easily through the still-sleeping city. Upon reaching Dr. Edwards' practice, he led Caesar into the stables and settled him into the large and comfortable stall that had been arranged for his use. The nurse led him through the maze of halls to a patient's room, painted a pale yellow with white trim. Erik imagined he looked terribly out of place.

Edwards strode in seconds later. "Good morning, Mr. Destler. I trust you have made the arrangements for your stay?"

"Indeed," Erik confirmed. "How do we proceed from here?"

"The surgical theater is being prepared now. If you would kindly change into a hospital gown, an anaesthetist will be in shortly. Once you are prepared, I will complete the procedure. You should wake up again within three hours barring complications."

Erik nodded and observed as both the nurse and surgeon quit the room. There was a touch of trepidation in him, and he frowned as he realized it.

"This is a chance I have sought most of my life," he reminded himself sternly. "Now is not the time to be afraid."

Now determined, he obeyed the instructions given and settled on the wheeled bed that had been left to transport him to the surgery. The anaesthetist stepped in- a short, balding man with coppery hair and grey eyes.

"Ready then?" he asked, his French drenched with a thick British accent. "The doctor's said I'm to take you under for the procedure. Off with the mask, sir! I can't do my job if it's in the way."

The once Phantom reluctantly set the protective white leather aside. The other man started, but quickly settled himself.

"Now that's a sight, isn't it? I see why you need Edwards' help then. Sorry you had to go through whatever caused it, and I hope I didn't offend you. I often react faster than I can think. My old head's not too good nowadays."

"I have been subjected to worse reactions," Erik said curtly.

"I'm sure you have, sir. Still, I'm a foolish old man to do so with a patient. I don't doubt that you've had some tough times because of that. Well, the doctor will set you to rights." He lifted a bottle of ether. "I'll be using this to put you to sleep so Edwards needn't fret that you might move during the surgery."

"Do you intend to mix it with alcohol and chloroform?" Erik asked.

"Sorry, no, lad," the anaesthetist sighed. "This is a delicate procedure, so it's best we use something strong. You don't want this to go badly, I'm sure. I'll be pouring a bit of this on a cloth and putting it in a mask covering your mouth and nose. It'll be moved while he cares for your face, but I'll be sure you don't wake up in the middle. You'll still be getting air, so don't fret."

"Yes, I am aware. The vapors of the drug combine with the air. By inhaling it, ether can be used to induce unconsciousness, and it is a common choice of anaesthesia."

The older man raised a brow. "Are you a doctor too, then? You do seem to know a good deal."

Erik shook his head. "I have had ample time to explore a great many subjects, and as I have lived alone for the vast majority of my life I learned something of medicine in order to preserve my health, though my studies were directed more to pharmacology than the actual practice of medicine."

"Then I needn't explain it to you, do I?" he said with a sharp nod. "You seem a bright fellow." He carefully poured the drug over a cloth and set it into the prepared mask. "Down you go, then, and we'll see how handsome your face looks once the doctor's done. Deep breaths, lad."

He settled the mask in place as Erik followed his orders, and darkness quickly rushed to meet him.

88888888

AN: And that's that. Hopefully you guys are enjoying it. I actually put a fair degree of research into the skin grafting procedure, anaesthetics, etc. So, as always, please please please review! I'll take anything I can get! Till next time!


	19. Chapter 19

AN: So, welcome back. You guys are doing great on reviews, and making me very happy, so keep it up! As always, thanks to xXxMusexXx for beta-ing this.

Disclaimer: As I've not recently amassed any sort of fortune, I couldn't afford to buy Phantom, so I obviously don't own it.

88888888

It was not in Erik's nature to remain unconscious for very long. As the drug passed from his system, he clawed out of the darkness. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw the sunlight pouring from the window in the yellow and white room he had been shown previously. Still too weak to sit up, he touched the side of his face very cautiously. Several layers of bandages covered to just under his eye. There was pain, but it was nothing too terrible, and a second pain on the back of his left leg, a searing burn. He easily deduced the source of the skin used. It was very tender.

The door opened not too much later, and Dr. Edwards breezed in. "Are you awake already? I had expected you to sleep another hour yet."

"I process drugs very quickly," Erik answered. "It has not been very long. Did the procedure go well?"

"Indeed so," the doctor replied with satisfaction. "You must know we cannot be certain of the results until the bandages may safely be removed, but I believe that you will recover fully. Both sites will still be tender for several days."

"That is, I imagine, to be expected."

"Naturally. I expect you will be able to leave in two days, as planned. I would release you earlier, but there is always a risk of infection, so it is best that you remain monitored. I also want to ensure that the blood vessels begin growing normally. Now, I'd like to take a look to ensure that everything is proceeding properly."

He carefully peeled back the bandages, nodding and clicking his tongue.

"You do show a remarkable degree of healing very quickly."

Erik shrugged, taking care not to accidentally jar the doctor's hand. "I have always done so, to my fortune."

"And it is serving you well now. I can say honestly that I would expect a complete recovery within three to four weeks."

88888888

Erik found lying about, simply waiting, to be incredibly dull. The back of his leg had proceeded to itch atrociously and did nothing to ease the tedium. When he had informed the nurse of this, she nodded understandingly and returned with a jar of ointment when it was time to change the dressing. The heavy cream did ease the itch, but he was still very bored. He began slowly composing in his head, as he had no paper, pen or instrument to aid him. After a few hours, the elderly anaesthetist popped in.

"Good to see you, lad," he said in a fatherly tone and settled in a chair beside the bed. "You seem to be recovering well."

"So I am told," Erik commented drily, "but lying around like this is rather disinteresting. I am wishing desperately for something to do."

"Ah, well, there's little to be done till you have healed further," he said sympathetically. "I've finished my work for today, so I thought I might keep you company for a time."

"That is very kind, thank you."

He nodded. "The name's Douglass, by the way. Oliver Douglass. I'm sure I've been told your name, but I can't quite recall it."

"Destler. Erik Destler."

"Destler?" Douglass repeated. "Destler, Destler… I'm sure I've heard that name about in recent days. Was it… something of an opera house? I'm sure I've heard your name in connection to something of that sort."

"The Opera Populaire," Erik answered. "Yes, I am the new owner and manager, and recently completed renovations there. We intend to have our opening night gala in approximately a month."

Douglass whistled. "That's impressive, and rightly so. If you've just done the renovations and you're already setting up for a show you must be going very fast. Not at the expense of quality, I hope."

"No, of course not." Erik shook his head. "A portion of the cast was already trained in their roles, including the leads, and the sets are already completed. I believe we will be ready when opening day arrives."

"It sounds grand. What will you be showing, then? An old classic?"

The once Phantom smiled. "Oh, no. No, that would not do at all for a grand gala. I thought to pick up where the Populaire had left off before the fire. We will be performing the Phantom's opera."

"Phantom?" the elder man repeated. "Here now, what's this about a phantom? Does your opera house have a ghost?"

"You have recently come from England, have you not?" Erik asked. Douglass nodded. "Ah, then you have not heard the tale. The Populaire has been haunted by the Opera Ghost for many a year. Imagine the shock of the inhabitants when they learned that their feared ghost was a man. He forced them to perform his opera, with his protégé as the lead. They plotted to kill this mystery man, but he took the place of the male lead on stage and stole away the young soprano before their very eyes. No one is aware of what transpired after that save those involved, and the Populaire was badly damaged in the fire he set."

"Is that so?" Edwards asked from the doorway. "Fascinating tale. True, is it not?"

"It sounds like a grand scandal," Douglass agreed.

"That it was," Erik affirmed. "However, the public was rather taken with the brief portion of the opera that they were able to view, and I am willing to accept that interest if it will revitalize the Populaire."

Dr. Edwards' lips twitched. "I am sure you do not need an excuse to perform your work."

"Your- his work?" Douglass repeated, bewildered. "He told me the opera was the work of this Phantom chap."

"He did indeed. Did he mention what was particularly distinguishing of the Phantom of the Opera? He wore a mask over the right side of his face at all times, and a full mask on occasion. During the opera, his mask was removed, revealing a tragic disfiguration."

Erik frowned and slowly pushed himself to sit upright. "If you know all that, why did you agree to do the surgery? Why would you choose to allow me to enter your practice at all?"

"Settle down," the doctor said firmly. "I am not condemning you, Mr. Destler. I feel no need to do so when all of Paris has already vilified you once. The police have said that you were cleared of charges, and Mrs. Giry seems an excellent judge of character. More, you do not strike me as the horrible figure of the stories."

Douglass gaped. "You mean to tell me that this gentleman is the ghost in the story? I can't believe that, Jonathon. He's a likable enough fellow."

"I do not disagree with you, Oliver. If what I have heard of the incident is correct, Mr. Destler was suffering an unfortunate madness, one that seems to have since passed. I am not afraid of him. He was treated poorly because of the misfortune of his face. I hope that I have corrected that and spared him further unhappiness."

Erik's frown changed to an expression of confusion. "Surely you cannot that easily trust a murderer."

"What seems murder to one person may be something else entirely when seen in the light of truth. I specialize in reconstructive surgery, yes, but I also took several courses in psychology whilst in school. You did nothing to influence the people's opinions of your misdeeds when you might have attempted to cast them in a more sympathetic light."

"How do you know all this?" he asked quietly.

"I have told you that I traveled. I passed through Persia twice. During one such trip, I encountered a local man that spoke of someone he called friend. Apparently this friend was decried a madman and murderer, yet in truth he was a merciful figure that killed only to spare those that would otherwise suffer. More, he mentioned this disfiguration. A man in a white half-mask, he had said, and so very sad, so very alone." Edwards sighed. "I thought it touching when it was first told to me, and it was his story that encouraged me to pursue reconstructive surgery. When I arrived in Paris, I did hear the story of the Phantom. More, I heard the details that seemed to indicate that this mysterious ghost was the friend of the kind Persian man I had met some years before."

"Nadir never told me about this."

"Nadir!" the doctor exclaimed. "Yes, that was his name. Nadir Khan. He said he had been the chief of police for a time but was arrested and sent to prison."

Douglass looked slightly startled. "I don't know about this talk of murderers and madness," he said finally, "but I have always believed in following instincts, and mine say you are a good lad, if unusual. Edwards trusts you, so I will as well."

Erik was shocked by their easy acceptance. "You can just believe in me so easily. Knowing what I am does not matter."

"No, it doesn't," Dr. Edwards responded easily. "I work to change people's lives, the lives of those that have suffered for things beyond their control. Unless there is more I don't know, I would say that to be a fair descriptor of your past, Mr. Destler. I would not have agreed to help you otherwise. Oliver, would you be so kind as to check Mr. Destler's dressings for me? I have an emergency surgery coming in shortly. The other anaesthetist will be assisting me tonight."

"I'll see it done," Douglass promised as Edwards stepped out to prepare. "Well, you do know how to set an old man's head to spinning, lad, make no mistake of that. You had me good and riled. Still, I reckon you to be a good fellow. I'll be glad to come see your show, if you'll tell me how to go about finding a ticket."

"You would be welcome in the manager's box, if you do not mind company. As it happens," Erik admitted with a thin smile, "I won't be needing it during the performance."

Douglass's brows flew up. "You won't be going to your own premiere? Bit unkind to the cast, are you?"

"Not at all. I shall be on stage with them."

The older man rocked back in his seat. "Is that so? You're a singer as well as a composer, then?"

"And many things besides, yes. I did tell you that the Phantom took the stage that night."

The anaesthetist shook his head. "You'll give me a heart attack yet with all your revelations. Let's see to those bandages. I shan't like to see the doctor's face if he finds them the same once he's done with surgery."

He undid the bandages on Erik's face with practiced hands as the younger man considered. "Are you and Dr. Edwards related?"

"Not by blood," he answered idly. "The boy's family wanted him to go into law- couldn't see that his gift was for medicine, and his heart as well. I worked in the clinic that hosted the students and took him under my wing when I saw his skill. It was still new and untrained in those days, so he needed to find a direction. I went with him when he began his travels. England wasn't for him when we returned, so we headed here. I'm more the lad's father than his true one."

Erik completely understood. "I have never been close to my father. I left home at eight years old and did not see him again until just a few months ago."

"Ah, it's a hard thing to be at odds with family." He settled a fresh dressing against the surgery site. "I miss mine something terrible. My parents died about ten years ago. I was an only child, so I've no siblings. Jonathon's all I have now. He's a good lad, though, and it's pleased I am to have the boy about. There now, I think your face is well enough for right now. Let's take a look at your leg."

He helped maneuver Erik onto his stomach and neatly unwound the gauze. "I have a brother," Erik admitted in a soft voice. "We do not get along very well. In actuality, we were actually rivals for my fiancée's affections before he knew who I was. I nearly killed him. I might have."

"Ah, lad, I imagine Jonathon was right about the suffering you've gone through for your face. It can't have been good for a young boy. Did your brother grow up well?"

"My brother is a nobleman. He received everything. I could not have even my parents' attention or affection."

"That is a terrible way of life. It's sorry I am you had to go through that." A second dressing was fixed in place and a new gauze was wrapped over the donor site. "Still, things have changed now, you being a respectable businessman managing an opera house and engaged to be married. If I had that chance, I'd be seeking to make amends with my family. We can set your face to rights. You can do the same for your kin."

"I have been told as much on a number of occasions in recent times."

Douglass shrugged. "As it's a wise choice, I can't consider it surprising. You won't live forever, lad, and you can't always be angry over the past. Do you want to die with that unresolved?" He finished tying off the bandage. "Well, that's taken care of. I should take my tired old body to bed before it gets much later. Will you be well enough on your own?"

"I have been alone most of my life. A night unaccompanied is nothing new for me," Erik answered with faint bitterness.

The older man shook his head. "Lad, the time has come that you understand you don't have to be alone. You could ask a nurse or orderly to take a message to your fiancée if you want the company. You could contact your parents or your brother."

"They do not know I am here," he replied. "No one knows about the surgery."

"You seem the intelligent sort. Still, what kind of fool are you, boy? Surgery, even with a skilled doctor, is a risk. You should have told the people you care for. What if it had gone badly, lad?" Douglass sighed as he helped Erik lay back again. "Still, I'm for home and bed. Think on what I've said, and I'll see you come morning. Sleep well."

Douglass left without saying anything else and Erik spent some time considering his words.

88888888

Erik woke with the dawn, as was his habit in these new days of walking among others normally. It took a moment for his normally quick mind to recall the reasons for both the pain and the unfamiliar surroundings. He sighed and carefully sat up. The bandage on his face was a good reminder of his purpose, but for a moment it was still unsettling. He had spent a very long time seeing the world through the hole in a mask.

A young nurse came in with a breakfast tray. "Good morning, Monsieur Destler. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," he answered shortly as she swung a small table over his bed and set the tray in front of him. "Do you know if there is a way to get a book or paper and pen? I find myself bored just lying here."

She frowned and considered. "We normally encourage as little movement as possible after a surgery."

"The surgery was done on my face and leg, not my arms. I would appreciate something to pass the time," he snapped. "If the doctor has a problem with it, he may discuss it with me."

The woman left in a huff, and Erik suspected he had heard her say that the doctor should have sewn his mouth shut while he was operating. It made him smile just a little. Edwards joined him a few minutes later.

"Gabriella tells me you have become bored."

Erik deduced from the doctor's expression that she had said many unflattering things besides. "I am not accustomed to inactivity. Even when living alone, I had a number of things with which to occupy my time. Something to read would do nicely."

Dr. Edwards offered him a newspaper. "I have already read it, if you are interested. As for the rest of the day, I shall see if I can find a few books. Pen and paper will be sent in shortly."

The once Phantom accepted the paper gratefully. "Thank you. I am afraid I have upset your nurse."

He sighed. "Gabriella is a bit touchy at times, and is not the best for dealing with patients, but she is very skilled as a surgical assistant."

There was a rap at the door, and it swung open a moment later. Douglass stepped in with a wan smile on his face. "Good morning, lads. Jonathon, the _gendarme_ just sent word of a horseback riding incident and want to know if you can take the patient. It seems she was thrown into a post and took most of the impact across one cheekbone."

Edwards winced. "Yes, of course. Have them send her right away and have the surgical theater prepared. If it will require an operation it would be best to accomplish it as soon as possible. Do you want to take this surgery or wait for the one that was scheduled for this afternoon?"

"I'll be sitting both if you have need of me."

The younger doctor shook his head. "No, this afternoon's surgery should be a very simple one and will not require any special attention. Gabriella will do the anaesthesia for me later if you can be spared for this morning."

"Then I'll gather whatever medication we might need. I do hope the poor girl's all right. It'd be a shame to damage a pretty face."

Edwards' face set. "Whatever the damage, I shall do my best to set it to rights."

Douglass bustled out and Edwards looked at Erik apologetically. "I am sorry, Mr. Destler, but I think it will be a while until I can find you something to read."

"You needn't worry over it," Erik assured him. "I understand perfectly the need to see to something so important immediately."

"Still, I do appreciate your understanding. I will have another nurse bring you pen and paper as soon as possible, and to check your dressings." He seemed ready to say more, but frowned and hurried from the room.

Erik watched him go with a faint sigh. He had already come to enjoy the young doctor's company, and his anaesthetist's as well. It was strange that he would accept other people so easily, but these two Englishmen were rapidly becoming something close to friends. He turned his attention to the newspaper in his hands.

The nurse came and cared for the bandages with quiet efficiency, but the once Phantom paid little heed. Instead, once he had read the paper, his thoughts turned to Christine, as they so often did.

He shifted his hand to the pen lying nearby and thoughtfully dipped it into the ink well.

_For the second time in a matter of months, I have decided to speak bluntly of my thoughts and feelings in writing. My music no longer seems adequate for this, because I have never written music of happiness. Lust, passion, certainly. Anger, regret, sadness, even fear, many times. Happiness has eluded me even in that for all my life. I believe I will learn, given time to adjust, but for now it continues to be foreign._

_ The thoughts of our impending nuptials are a pleasant torture. It is truly the wait that is torturous, for I feel that I have already waited for a very long time, yet the joy that she will marry me seems to always come to the surface. Christine has been my world for so very long that the thought of being able to claim her fully is the most wonderful thing I can imagine. No longer will I need to fear another man's attempts to lure her away._

_ However, the thoughts of Moreau linger painfully in my mind. The quiet of recent days makes me wary, for I learned long ago not to trust the cornered beast. I fear the retaliation that may come at any time. I suspect that my beloved Angel is no longer his true target, which is a small relief, but I know as well that he will consider me his enemy and will seek to use her as a weapon to harm me. He knows now that I fear for her above all else. _

_ It pains me to keep her trapped within the walls of the Populaire. Imprisoning her had never been my intention, though madness may have seen it done. I want her to be able to walk freely in the streets- to visit the park, or a bakery, whatever suits her. Still I cannot allow it, for I could not bear her to be hurt because I was not cautious. _

_ These days free of signs of the madman are beginning to lure us into a dangerous state of complacency. I am doing my utmost to remain vigilant against the threat, but each hour without word eases my fears. I begin to worry that one day I will permit her to wander abroad only to lose her as a result._

Erik frowned and set the pen aside. Those thoughts were haunting him enough without giving them further voice, even in ink on a page. Yes, he feared what might occur with Moreau, but he would not let that danger consume their lives. He was right now taking a step to give Christine what she had so long desired- the ability to live freely in the wide world. They would not have to fear reactions to his mask, to his damaged face, should the surgery prove as successful as they hoped. Reaching for his pen again, he drew the musical staff with ease and began to compose.

Still, he knew Moreau lurked somewhere in the shadows, waiting for a moment of weakness in which to act.

88888888

With the police searching, Moreau had been forced to hide. Few of his men remained with him, loyal as they were only to the coin they gained. Each day another would slip away, or two or three. More, the treachery of Giles and the benefits he reaped was whispered of amongst them. Some considered turning to the Phantom with information in hopes of similar treatment. Only the growing madness in the disowned nobleman's eyes stopped them.

88888888

"I see no reason to keep you here a moment longer," Dr. Edwards decided the next day. "The blood vessels are already growing into the new skin. The stitches should be ready to be removed within a week or so, so you will need to return for that. I believe the nurse has already instructed you in the dressings."

"Yes, she did. The medicines and bandages are in my bag."

Edwards nodded. "Good, good. You must remember to change it at least three times a day. If there is any sign of infection, I expect you to come in _immediately_. It would be terrible to undo the work done because it was not treated quickly enough."

"I am not so distrusting of doctors that I would risk an infected surgical site. I am told the result is quite painful," Erik said drily.

"Whatever your reason may be, take care. There have not been any signs of rejection, which is promising. If you wish to change to your normal clothing, I will be filling out the release papers in my office."

Erik did dress, but he was slowed by his aching leg. He frowned at the bandages, but it was no more than a minor inconvenience. He slipped his vest on over his shirt and did it with ease, and his cravat and coat quickly followed. He had not brought the cloak in the newly warm weather. He paced the yellow room a few times to loosen the muscles. Once satisfied, he walked to the doctor's office, his stride not betraying the pain. He knocked on the large oak doors.

"Yes, come in!" Edwards called. Erik did so. "Come, have a seat. I am sure you realize by now that it will take time for your leg to recover. You may find yourself growing weary more quickly than your norm. Now, I had something I just thought of that I wished to discuss with you. You wear a mask habitually, yes? At all times, even?"

"Always in the company of others, certainly. I go without it for short periods when I am alone. Why?" Erik asked with a vague sense of curiosity. "It hardly seems necessary now."

"Oliver has given me the impression that you wish to keep the surgery secret until we are sure of its success. Given the bandages, I was unsure of how to do so, but it occurs to me that your mask may be the answer. May I see it?"

Erik lifted the white leather mask from just inside his bag. "I am not sure what help it may provide. It was created specifically for the contours of my face, so I do not believe I can wear it at all now."

Edwards accepted it and laid it on his desktop. "Perhaps. Still, there is something I would like to try." He fished a bandage from one of the drawers and set it against the indentations in the leather as a demonstration. "If your dressing were to form the same contours as the old scars, the mask may be able to remain in place."

"Usually, the weight of the mask was distributed against my face as evenly as possible to hold it. I do not think a bandage could support it." Erik frowned in consideration. "I would expect some sort of adhesive to become necessary."

"Ah, but the bandages are already held in place, are they not? This mask is large enough to cover them if we can create the necessary form. If you wish for this to go unnoticed, would this not be the most sensible method?"

Between them, they did manage to set a dressing into the mask's curves before setting it in place. It did indeed hold neatly, concealing the bandages from sight.

"It does not feel quite the same, but I imagine I can become accustomed easily enough," Erik decided. "Thank you for all your help, Dr. Edwards. Now, for your fee."

Edwards nodded. "Though I would be glad to do my work without charge, I unfortunately would be unable to maintain the practice in such a state. Still, I hope you will find the price to be reasonable."

"Reasonable?" Erik repeated with a faint chuckle. "You might ask for the moon and I would do my very best to oblige you. What you have done for me is beyond payment. I am a wealthy man; name your price."

They haggled for a few moments as Erik pushed the doctor to accept a larger sum. When Edwards continued to argue, the once Phantom told him to consider the excess a donation to the practice. The physician reluctantly acquiesced to that, and a substantial amount of francs were passed to him.

"Do you always carry so much cash?" he asked drily.

Erik shrugged. "No, but I do not normally have such a need for money. I would be able to give you more if you would swallow your pride long enough to take it."

Edwards shook his head quickly. "No, you have been more than generous already. I do thank you for it, though. It will most assuredly be put to good work."

"I imagine it will." Erik began to leave, but paused at the door. "Thank you. This means more than I could possibly have guessed."

"Giving that gift has always been my goal, and I believe you deserve the chances this may bring you. You need not thank me." His gaze shifted to the money before him. "Make sure you return in a week so that the stitches may be removed."

"I shall."

88888888

It was midmorning, and Paris was alive. Erik looked at it as never before. Certainly, the strange masked man in black, mounted on a black horse, drew some glances, but he paid them no heed. His eyes sought each detail of the busy city as he urged Caesar through the streets to the Populaire.

Giving in to a moment's foolish whim, he spoke to the gelding. "Someday, someday I hope I shall be able to walk among them. Without the mask, without fear. I may be able to walk freely in these streets."

Arriving at the grand opera house, he took his bag and pointed his horse in the direction of the stable as a worker hurried out to take him in.

"Where is Miss Daaé?" he asked the man.

"I saw her with Monsieur Khan and Monsieur Giles before the front steps, Monsieur Destler," the hand answered before hurriedly leading the mount away.

Erik sighed. "Will they never cease fearing me." With that, he began to circle around the vast building for that first glorious look at the woman he was engaged to. He paused and frowned at the dark silhouette he spotted in the deep shadows of the corner. He strode forward quickly and grasped the man's arm, noting as he did that this watcher's gaze had been firmly rooted on Christine.

"Just because I no longer choose to hide in the shadows," he said coldly, "does not mean I cannot see those that do."

The man was both shorter and slighter than the once Phantom, obviously malnourished, and he made a soft squeaking sound of shock. "I done nothing, Monsieur, honest!"

"Is that so. Then explain to me why you were so closely monitoring the movements of Miss Daaé, and do not lie. I am not particularly tolerant of such behavior."

"He asked me to watch her, that's all, really!" he pleaded. "He gave me a few coins, said watch the singer girl for him and tell him if she left alone!"

"If that is all you will have no difficulty if I turn you over to the police," Erik snapped. "However, if you will tell me everything you know, quickly, I may just set you loose, even see you fed. Quickly, man!"

"T-the man! He said he was some Marquis, Monsieur, promise! I really don't know! He came to my alley and said I'd be given money if I'd watch her. I don't mean her no harm!"

Erik slowly relaxed his grip. "Fortune seems to favor you today. I do not believe you are lying. Go inside and tell Madame Giry that Erik sent you for a meal and some odd jobs. If you do well, you will be rewarded. However, if I catch even a hint of wrongdoing, you will find yourself in the _gendarme_'s gentle care very quickly. Am I clear?" The street waif shook his head hurriedly. "Get going before I change my mind."

He watched the man's progress with calculating eyes, noting the legitimate fear of retaliation as well as the joy at the prospect of the meal. Moreau had chosen a different tact, then, relying on those that would most often go unnoticed. No doubt he had not yet expected Erik's return. Still, he would not make a similar attempt any time soon.

Erik continued his progress toward Christine when a mild mischief crossed his mind. His good humor, though slightly dampened by the appearance of another threat, felt no need to disregard it. Rather than approach Christine directly, he strode to the top of the steps and watched her.

_I am your Angel of Music; come to me, Angel of Music_…

He could not help the laughter that bubbled in his throat when she jerked in response to his voice, his song that only she had heard. She spun and their gazes meshed immediately. Moments later she flung herself into his arms.

"Erik!" she cried. "You're back!"

He ran his hand over her tumbling curls. "Yes, Angel, I am back."

"I'm so glad."

Giles and Nadir joined them on the steps. "Welcome back," the Persian said cheerfully. "Whatever did you do to have her dash off so?"

"Nothing," Erik answered with a faint smile. "Nothing at all."

88888888

AN: *Sigh* So cute. I couldn't resist the addition of fluff at the end. I tried, but I couldn't. Now, please review! You don't know how much it warms my heart each time I hear about the story. It shows me how much you care. Questions, comments, suggestions, concerns, what have you, tell me what you think. Till next time!


	20. Chapter 20

AN: Sorry for the delay, guys, but my beta seems to have vanished from the face of the earth. So you'll have to bear with me this time. This chapter hasn't been proofread by anyone but me. If you see anything wrong, please let me knew so I can fix it.

Disclaimer: Since pigs aren't flying, I must not own Phantom of the Opera.

88888888

The month leading to opening night passed relatively quietly. A few of Moreau's men were sighted and chased off with minimal difficulty. Once, as Christine walked to the church, another accosted her, but they were very close to the Populaire still and Erik routed him.

His regular check ups at Dr. Edwards' practice kept them aware of healing of his face, which was going very well. Erik was allowed to remove the bandages under his eye a week after the surgery. The bandages on his leg had been removed with the stitches a week before. Though the site of the donor skin was still very tender and often subjected him to a sharp burning sensation, it too was healing with neat precision.

The night before the gala was Erik's last appointment. He would finally be allowed to see the results of the surgery. The nurses and other staff of the practice smiled and greeted him as he passed through, and he responded in kind, buoyed by the almost overwhelming hope that consumed him.

Edwards was coming out of his office just as Erik arrived and inclined his head by way of greeting. "Good evening, Mr. Destler. Are you ready?"

Erik couldn't find sufficient words. He nodded in reply and followed the surgeon to an examination room, seating himself on the table as Edwards set down his notes.

"I see you are wearing a black mask now," he observed.

Erik touched the soft fabric automatically. "Yes. We have been preparing for my opera and I wanted to accustom the cast to it. My white mask was hardly practical any longer."

"Understandable," Edwards agreed. "Now, let us see how we did." He set the mask aside and carefully examined his cheek. "Are you still in any pain?"

"My leg continues to ache, but not my face."

"Good, good. You have not noticed any strain?"

"None."

"Excellent." The doctor stepped back. "Mr. Destler, I think you will be pleased with the results." He lifted a hand mirror from the counter and offered it to him, reflective surface facing the floor.

He accepted it as hope clashed with years of engrained caution. Finally he closed his eyes and slowly reversed the mirror before allowing himself to look.

In the clear glass of the mirror, his face was easily recognized as his own. The left remained unchanged, strangely handsome as a contrast to the previously mauled right. Now, however, the right was merely paler than the left, with faint lines marking where the damaged skin had been removed and replaced with new. His eyelid no longer sagged and there was no weight to create discomfort. Oh, it was not perfect, certainly- the lines were scars, however faint, and his color was not even. The redness above his eye certainly remained. What was remarkable to him was that what he saw was a face. It was nothing overly impressive, not outstandingly handsome. It was a normal face.

"I can scarcely credit what I see as the truth," he murmured. "All my life mirrors have caused me naught but pain, yet now there is nothing to fear. Still, how can this be real? Surely I am dreaming."

Edwards nodded and placed a hand on Erik's shoulder. "You would not have been quite so impressed if I had allowed you to view the progress you made this month. At the beginning your face was scarcely improved at all, due to the stitches and discoloration. It is not perfect, no, but I hope you find it satisfactory nonetheless."

"Satisfactory?" Erik repeated. "My fiancée has always been a devout Catholic and speaks of a benevolent God capable of great miracles. With my sordid past I gave no credence to such things, believing them to be little more than devices to make the masses complacent. Now I am faced with a true miracle and begin to wonder if I have been wrong."

The doctor smiled. "I cannot claim to know the truth of God, or to be such a being. However, my mother always taught me that God would not act directly. Instead, He would move through human believers to bring peace and joy to those that were in danger and unhappy. Perhaps now is such a time."

"You believe yourself to be doing God's work?" Erik asked with a faint smirk.

He shrugged. "For whatever reason, I found a gift that betters the lives of others, and I choose to do so as much as any one person can. I was raised in a Christian family and told to always aid those that need it." Edwards shook himself. "Well, I believe my work is done. Good luck, my friend."

Erik laughed and leapt to his feet. "Luck? You have given me an incredible gift. I feel now that I might be capable of moving mountains."

Edwards frowned. "I have heard disturbing news from those friends I have in the seamier parts of the city. Danger stalks you, Mr. Destler, and your fiancée. I am hoping that it is an exaggeration."

The sobering thought drew Erik back from his euphoria. "Much to my regret, it is not. We have been under a constant threat for many months now." He shook his head and smiled again. "Now is not the time for such maudlin thoughts. My gala is tomorrow. I am engaged to a woman I love beyond life itself. I am free to walk openly in this world. For a day or so I will celebrate this chance. After that I will worry again about the dangers."

"Are you going to show your fiancée once you return home?" the surgeon asked.

Erik considered, but shook his head. "No, not tonight. Tomorrow, when the premiere is done. I will reveal this marvel to her, to my sister and her daughter, perhaps to my family as well if they attend. Will you be coming?"

"I don't know. I've not attended an opera before, and I imagine that the show is already sold out."

"Ah, yes," the once Phantom nodded. "The seats have been booked for two weeks now. I told Monsieur Douglass, but it seems I have forgotten to tell you that you are free to sit in the manager's box tomorrow."

Momentarily puzzled, realization dawned a moment later. "Ah, that's right. You sing the Don's role, do you not? Are you as good as they say, I wonder? I am told your performance was spectacular."

"Music has always been my greatest talent," he admitted.

"Very impressive. All right, I shall attend your gala. No doubt it shall be something incredible."

88888888

The Populaire was quiet when Erik returned, its inhabitants weary from their day's long practice. He mounted the steps to his and Christine's flat with practiced ease and slipped in quietly. Christine was asleep on the divan, and Nadir was seated in a nearby chair. He got to his feet when he saw his old friend.

"Where have you been so late at night?" the Persian asked curiously. "And why are you still wearing the black mask?"

Erik laughed. "So many questions. Really, Daroga, I am not accustomed to answering for my actions. Since it is, as you say, so late, I would like to get some sleep as well. Tomorrow will be a long day."

The Daroga knew well the futility of arguing with Erik when he did not wish to cooperate. Shaking his head, he left the flat to return to his own room. Erik sat on the edge of the divan and caressed Christine's cheek. She stirred with his touch and opened her eyes.

"You're home," she realized, sitting up. "I meant to wait for you. I'm sorry."

"You needn't fret," he assured her. "I just arrived a few moments ago and sent Nadir away. Go to bed, Angel. Tomorrow the eyes of all of Paris will be on you as they bear witness to our music."

Her arms curled around his neck. "They will not all be looking at me, Erik. They will be looking at you as well."

Erik lifted her and carried her to her bedroom- theirs once they were married. "You are the star, my beautiful Christine. You will shine." Since she was already in nightclothes, he set her on the bed and slipped the blankets over her before seating himself at her side once more. "We will stand on stage together, singing as never before. The crowds will be in ecstasy, and Paris will be at your feet."

"They will love you as well," she murmured before smothering a yawn.

He chuckled slightly. "Ah, Angel, it is not they whose love I desire. It was always yours."

"I love you, Erik, my Angel of Music."

"I know. I love you as well."

"Sing for me?" Christine asked, as she had so many other times.

"I wonder… 'Music of the Night'?" he said with a smile.

She nodded and curled up against a pillow. "Please."

_Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar, and you'll live as you never lived before…_

88888888

The Populaire was in creative chaos when morning came. Costumes had to be adjusted; checks were being done to make sure the props were in good condition and in place. Those responsible for cleaning were hurrying to ensure that the entire theater was spotless. Make-up was being carefully applied and dancers hurried to their warm-up exercises. Overall those that had been at the Populaire before knew that it was a similar scene to the one that had preceded the famous disaster. After all, it had been the night of _Hannibal_'s premiere that Christine Daaé had first vanished after taking the lead.

Erik stood on the stage issuing orders as Monsieur Reyer instructed the orchestra. Over the past month, all of the Populaire's employees had come to, if not trust, warily respect him. He paid them well and was exceedingly fair in his treatment- rather than previous situations where La Carlotta had been fawned over, Christine was worked just as vigorously as the rest of the cast, if not more so.

Once satisfied everyone was ready, Erik looked over the assembled cast. "Tonight is our grand gala opening. This rehearsal will tell me if you are prepared for your various roles. If you cannot perform appropriately now, I will ask your respective understudies to take your place. No substandard song, no overacting, no misplay shall be permitted."

Christine moved next to him. "I know it sounds strict, but there has been a lot of controversy over the state of the Populaire. We must be the best we can possibly be if we wish to succeed."

"Begin," Erik commanded.

88888888

At midday the rehearsal ended and the cast dispersed to rest before the performance. Erik and Christine sat together at the edge of the stage, and she leaned against his shoulder.

"Nervous, Angel?" he asked quietly.

She laughed slightly. "Always, and tonight more than ever. This show will determine the success of this opera house, and of your opera."

"I do not think it will be a problem," Erik responded. "We have worked very hard. The entire cast is prepared, and the media continues to parrot the virtues of 'Point of No Return'. You know the score; should the rest be less satisfactory?"

A faint smile creased her lips. "It is spectacular."

"Christine! Erik."

Both looked up to see the Vicomte and his parents standing in the aisle just above the orchestra pit. Christine hurried to her feet, but Erik took his time rising. "Messieurs. Madame."

Raoul spun about, taking in the entirety of the vast chamber. "This looks amazing. You have done a fantastic job."

"Thank you."

He paused and smiled uncertainly. "I hope you do not mind, but I asked our parents to see the show tonight."

"Any patron of the arts is welcome," Erik responded, though his tone was icy. "I am sure it will prove more than worth their time."

The de Chagnys were certainly attired for the occasion, in good formal clothes.

"Raoul tells us that your opera is very good, Erik," the Comtesse de Chagny said timidly.

"I am surprised he would think so, as he was determined to have me killed if I dared make an appearance."

"Erik," Christine whispered, "please do not antagonize anyone. Today should not be for anger."

He nodded. "You are right. My apologies, then. Feel free to occupy yourselves as you see fit until curtain. Christine and I must rest."

He turned to leave, but his mother spoke again. "I am looking forward to the performance. You were always very gifted in music."

"Yes," he agreed without emotion, "I was." It was no more than a fact. "I doubt that you would know much of that, however."

The Comtesse sighed and turned to her husband. The Comte frowned. "You needn't be rude."

"There is a rather distinct distance between ill manners and honesty. I decided to forego lies, therefore the truth is what remains."

Erik walked off and Christine hurried after him.

88888888

Once they reached their flat, Erik went directly to his organ. The music produced was beautiful, of course, but angry, and hurt. Christine allowed it for a time, but after an hour she interrupted.

"Angel."

His hands froze over the keys immediately. "Yes? Is something wrong?"

Christine sat next to him on the bench. "I am worried about you. You seemed so happy last night and this morning, and now you are angry again. Do your parents upset you so badly?"

Erik sighed and ran one hand through his hair, the other resting quietly against the organ. "An impossible question. In ways, I am glad that they would make the effort to attend our premiere. At the same time I detest their very presence. I was little more than abandoned as an infant, but they will pay heed to the man when they did not care for the child. I do not know how to unite this life that I have built through so many years' sorrow with a life I have done my best to forget."

She grasped his hands in hers. "Whatever the wrongs done, they are your family," she said fiercely. "If they were not there before, at least they are here now. My father is gone, and I will not have him again. I miss him so desperately. When I was young, like most children I thought my father was invulnerable, but I was wrong. Do you want to realize how much you care when it is too late to repair the damage done?"

He softened and rested his head against her shoulder. "I know. I know. Still, I cannot deal with this today. Tonight is the pinnacle of my life's work, and it seems I am more nerve wracked than I had thought."

"That is quite all right," Christine assured him. "For now, do not think on your family. Tonight is your opera, and it is understandable that you would wish to focus on that. We can begin to mend bridges with your parents tomorrow."

"We are to sing again tomorrow," he reminded.

She laughed. "We shall not be all aflutter tomorrow. It is tonight that is the true obstacle."

He nodded and rose. "Come, let us rest."

"Will you stay with me?" Christine requested. "I know we thought it best that we not share a bed until after the wedding, but I want to be next to you right now."

Erik smiled and gently tousled her hair. "I think it is a good idea. I would appreciate the company as well."

88888888

Christine peeked from behind the curtain as she twisted her hands against her skirt. "Every seat is filled," she whispered.

Erik laid his hand on her shoulder. "We already knew they would be," he reminded gently.

"I know. Still, there are so many people! What if I make a fool of us all?"

He laughed now. "Christine, you know this opera perfectly, and your voice is exquisite. I cannot imagine you doing such a thing."

The music began and they hurried to the side as the dancers began the opening scene.

"It is far better without La Carlotta's terrible shrieking," he murmured slyly into Christine's ear before slipping away to await his queue. She quickly smothered a laugh. Erik stepped on stage and began.

_Passarino, faithful friend! Once again recite the plan._

She watched as he and the character Passarino had their brief exchange. The music shifted and she, as Aminta, walked into view just after Don Juan had left. She sang her line, and Erik came forward once more. His first words were not meant for her, so she kept her eyes on the basket of roses before her. Passarino left again and Erik's gaze shifted to her behind Don Juan's black mask.

_You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge, in pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent… silent… _

She had turned to see him when he said silent, and looked away again, closing her eyes as he continued. Erik circled the false fire and approached as they again locked gazes. She slowly got to her feet as he drew near, pacing around her as she turned to keep him in view. Abruptly he was there, holding her, caressing. Oh, she knew it was choreography, but it felt as real as it had the first night. She was only vaguely aware of the other dancers or the audience as he sang. Erik slowly drew away as she collected herself to sing.

There were no guns now, no soldiers or police. Christine's gaze did slide for a moment over the boxes, but her attention returned quickly to her partner as they began the trek up the stairs, always in step. Erik tossed his cape aside before they met in the center to sing the duet in their passionate embrace.

He leaned in, face hidden by her hair. "Much better," he whispered. The tiniest of smiles curled her lips.

88888888

The curtains swung across the stage with the end of the last act, and Erik and Christine exchanged a look of triumph at the applause that echoed through the theater. Together they stepped forward again. Erik bowed, Christine curtsied. Flowers were thrown for them. Erik presented Christine with one of his own- the perfect, thornless red rose with a black satin ribbon on the stem. She blushed as the audience cheered.

"It's like a dream," Christine said with a soft sigh. "A beautiful dream."

"You were perfect, Angel," he told her. "You did splendidly, and you have given me an amazing gift. For so long I despaired that this would never be possible."

She grasped his hand. "We did this together, Erik. And your opera! They love it!"

"Yes," he agreed, facing the crowd. "It would seem they do."

They bowed again, now with the entire cast, before going backstage. He kissed her knuckles and smiled.

"You must wish to change. I will wait for you."

Christine shook her head. "You need to change as well. I will come to your dressing room when I am ready. Then… you invited guests, did you not? I would like to meet them."

"I am sure they would be pleased as well." Erik led her to her dressing room, where Madame Giry was waiting. A veritable mob of fans stood not too far away.

"You did very well, my dears," she told them. "Both of you were just perfect."

Erik smiled. "I shall leave Christine in your most capable hands, Antoinette. Please ensure she is given some privacy."

Both women hurried into the dressing room even as the men approached. Erik eyed them for a moment before turning down the next hall to reach his dressing room. Once in the privacy of that chamber, he removed the black mask, tossing it haphazardly to the table. His face in the mirror was still somewhat startling to him, and he paused to examine it again.

It was beginning to seem a reality that the plaguing scars were gone, when at first it had felt like an extravagant fantasy. He would show Christine tonight, and tomorrow… tomorrow he could take his bows without any mask at all. Tomorrow they could walk in the streets without fearing unsettled whispers. The possibilities seemed endless. He turned away and removed the Spanish-styled jacket, setting it aside. A rapid knocking sounded at the door.

Erik sighed and moved to open it. A young boy, no more than five years old, shoved a paper into his hands and bolted. The once Phantom frowned but turned his attention instead to the note.

_Now she is mine._

The implication struck mere moments later, and a terrible roar of rage tore through the theater. Erik ran for Christine's dressing room and pulled angrily against the locked door. "Christine! Christine!"

Madame Giry came up next to him. "Erik! Whatever has gotten into you!" She froze. "Your face…"

"No!" he snarled. "Christine. I have to get to Christine!"

The ballet mistress shook back her shock and focused. "Erik, Christine is in her dressing room changing."

He only paused long enough to pass her the note before racing away in search of the key. He knew that his sister kept her set in her rooms, not too far distant where his were in his and Christine's flat two stories above. He darted into her sitting room and snatched it from the table, hurriedly determining the correct key as he ran through the corridors. At the door, he immediately jammed it into the lock and flung it open.

The room was in shambles. The chair set before Christine's dressing table was upturned, and several of the vases filled with flowers had been broken. Worse, the floor length mirror was shattered and the rose he had given her on stage laid crumpled on the ground before it.

"Oh, God," Madame Giry whispered behind him. Erik began to advance down the passage, but she took his arm and pulled him back. "Erik, no!"

"I have to find Christine," he said, fighting her grasp. "I have to help her."

"Erik! You cannot simply rush in unprepared!"

Raoul appeared in the entry. "What happened? I heard someone shouting." His gaze locked on his brother and he took a step back. "Dear God. Erik?"

"This is not the time to worry over that!" Erik snapped. "Christine is gone!" He continued to strain against Madame Giry's hold, but Raoul hurried over and restrained him as well.

"Stop!" Raoul commanded. "Erik, you must think!"

Slowly his movements slowed and reason returned to his eyes. "All right," he said finally. "I will not run off. I need you to help. Madame, go to my box and bring the Daroga and Monsieur Giles. Monsieur le Vicomte, if you would be so kind, assemble some of the stagehands."

Madame Giry left to follow his instructions, but Raoul lingered. "What will you do?"

"I will return to our home and gather whatever I might need. Go quickly. Time is of the essence."

88888888

They gathered in the shattered remains of Christine's dressing room. Erik was still dressed in only shirt, trousers and boots, the black mask in place once more, but his sword was strapped to his side and a lasso was looped over the belt. A pistol was tucked at the small of his back, and daggers were in small sheaths in his boots. The others- Raoul, Nadir, and Giles- were armed as well. Madame Giry and Meg stood to the side, uncertain. A few stagehands were near the door, awaiting instruction.

Erik took several deep breaths to steady his voice. "I am going to follow them. Nadir, you know the entrance from Rue Scribe. I suggest you go that way and wait. I will call for you if I need assistance. Meg, please lead Monsieur le Vicomte through the passage in your mother's chambers. I want you to return here immediately once you have instructed him. Madame, be prepared to return to my box and fetch the doctors you will find there if it should prove necessary. I asked them previously to remain until I was able to join them. Giles, I would like you to accompany the Vicomte."

"Erik?" said Madame Giry. "What are you going to do?"

His expression was unreadable. "Whatever it takes."

88888888

Erik descended beneath the opera house in silence, following the familiar path between Christine's dressing room and his one-time home. Unlike most routes to the house on the lake, this one did not fork, nor were there traps. It had been designed to allow Christine safe passage should she ever choose to return of her own accord.

Once Erik reached the lake, he eschewed the small gondola. Instead, he circled the still waters and slipped unobserved into a niche set into the wall. Once there he tapped a trigger, causing a hidden entry to open. He followed the corridor beyond until he emerged in his library. He frowned as he observed the chamber.

His many precious books had been torn from their shelves and tossed about wildly. Several of the most valuable appeared to have vanished entirely. Erik supposed they had been sold, and he was grateful that he had preserved those most important to him by concealing them in another of his many secret rooms. From the main chamber, Erik heard a resounding crash and crept down the hall to cautiously gaze around the corner.

One of his elaborate candelabras had been thrown from its setting, it seemed, and the beautifully crafted metal was mangled from its impact with the stone underfoot. An enraged Moreau was pacing angrily through the limited space. And Christine, his precious angel, was tied to the portcullis.

For a moment, the rage in his heart threatened once again to overwhelm his control, but Erik's strength of will forced it back. He knew that he would have to be rational to ensure that they would both survive the night. He began to take stock of the situation as calmly as was possible.

Moreau was not holding to a single position, but his movement followed a simple pattern. Erik's keen senses had already made it clear that there were no others within his home. As such, there would be no servants that Moreau might be able to depend upon for assistance. Christine's hands were bound above her head, with her back to the metal grating. She was twisting her wrists in an attempt to free herself. Since her feet were beneath the water, he could not see if she was restrained there as well. He thought not.

The difficulty lay in the fact that there was no easy way for Erik to get past Moreau in order to release Christine. Though Erik knew little of Moreau's personal abilities, he was aware that noblemen were all instructed in swordplay at least, and he suspected that Moreau had some skill with other weapons as well. A sword lay against the ex-Marquis' hip just as one rested against Erik's.

Once again there was a fateful decision to make upon that lake, _Don Juan_ just having played out overhead.

88888888

AN: Again, sorry for how long this took. I've already started work on the next chapter, so hopefully that will be ready soon. As always, I love hearing what you have to say! Questions, comments, concerns, suggestions, what have you, I'll take it all. Constructive criticism is useful too. So please review! Till next time!


	21. Chapter 21

AN: Sorry for the delay, guys, but I wanted this chapter to come out well so I didn't force it to come quickly. Quality over speed, I guess. Hopefully you'll think so too. Since my beta still hasn't surfaced, this hasn't been edited, so let me know if you see anything that needs fixed up.

Disclaimer: Since nothing miraculous has happened since I started this story ten months ago, I still don't own Phantom. I find it surprising, don't you?

88888888

Christine thrashed against the restraints on her wrists, but to no avail. The knots were well secured and with the water to her waist she could not use her feet to get a decent grip. She directed an angry glare at her captor.

Christine had entered her dressing room in Madame Giry's company, and the ballet mistress had left shortly thereafter to see to various other members of the cast. No sooner had the elder lady left than Moreau had sprung from behind her mirror and grabbed her. With her mouth covered, Christine had been unable to shout, but she had struggled against his grasp and knocked several vases to the ground, hoping the noise might draw attention. Due to the packed opera house, such small sounds had not been heard over the many voices. As Moreau had dragged her back, she made one final attempt and kicked at the glass of the mirror with all the strength she possessed. It had shattered, but that too went unnoticed.

The descent had not been any easier. When Erik had brought her to his house after the first performance of _Don Juan_, neither had truly desired to harm the other. With no such restraint now, Christine fought violently against Moreau's hold, even leaving several long and angry scratches from below his right eye to the corner of his mouth. That injury had provoked his formidable temper, and he backhanded her viciously. Christine crashed into the wall, stunned, and he took advantage of that, carrying her to Erik's domain. Before she had been able to collect herself, she had been bound to the portcullis. In her thin costume, with water swirling around her, she was rapidly becoming chilled. If she was left there much longer, she would likely find herself quite ill.

88888888

Erik could see the tremors that wracked Christine's thin frame, telling him that he had no time. No elaborate plan would be prepared quickly enough, which left only the most direct approach. He would have to fight Moreau. For whatever reason- knowledge, perhaps- Moreau's hand remained at his face, thus eliminating the possibility of using the Punjab lasso to remove him quickly. Erik loosened his sword in its sheath. Reaching for his pistol, he paused as Moreau charged into the lake and grasped Christine's jaw.

"Where is he!" the madman demanded.

Christine shook her face free. "I imagine he is summoning the _gendarme_, or he would be here already."

"No!" Moreau shouted. "He would not go to the police. No, sweet songbird, he would come first for you, and well you know it. NOW WHERE IS HE!" Spittle flew, speckling one of Christine's cheeks.

The young soprano recoiled slightly. "I do not know! I was never shown all of the secrets of this place. There may be a thousand ways he might approach!"

Moreau's eyes narrowed to slits. "No… no. He is already here." He suddenly drew a pistol himself and jammed it against Christine's pulse. "Do come out, dear Erik!"

Erik closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then stood and walked to the steps of the small dock. Moreau's gaze followed every motion. "I am here."

"I have your fiancée," the ex-Marquis taunted. "What will you do to ensure she survives?"

He met Moreau's gaze evenly. "Whatever I must."

"No!" Christine protested. "Erik, no! You have to leave!"

"Not without you," he replied. "I have lost you too many times; I will not lose you again."

"He will kill you!" She threw her weight against the ropes, but only succeeded in further chafing her wrists.

"That is a risk I must take."

"Throw aside your weapons," Moreau ordered. Erik slowly tossed aside his sword and lasso. "All of them! I'm sure you have others!"

The once Phantom removed the pistol and threw it away as well. The small handgun skidded across the stone and fell into the lake, immediately useless. "That is everything."

"Lies!" the man hissed.

Now the hand that had remained against his cheek all this time slipped, and Erik glimpsed what laid beneath. Four long and vivid scratches tore across the skin in raking lines, and there was blood enough to suggest that they had gone deep, perhaps deep enough to scar.

"So," Erik said quietly. "The madness of your soul is now reflected in your form as well. How… fitting."

Moreau growled. "And your madness? What of that?"

"My madness was created by my face, I assure you. Had I been permitted a normal life, I suppose I would have remained quite sane."

"Ha! You are still mad, whether you will admit it or not!"

Erik shrugged with elegant grace. "Perhaps you see it in such a way. I do not. My mind has healed and I am at peace."

"Peace!" Moreau repeated, eyes bulging. "Peace! You rob me of my birthright and destroy all that I have worked to achieve, and you are at peace!"

"Birth does not dictate the course of life; I am ample proof of that. It was your own poorly chosen actions that stripped you of both title and fortune. And what you worked to achieve? I find it difficult to believe that you can even speak those words. You achieved naught. Instead, you basked in the glory of those that had, stealing it from them as surely as a robber may take jewels or coin. You sought to deprive those with gifts of their freedom, even their very lives."

"And you! You, who would kidnap a woman that wished to wed another! You are not one that may lecture me!"

Erik met his rage with ice. "I will not lie and say that I did not do such a thing. You are correct; I did commit that crime. However, it occurred while madness blinded my mind and left me bereft of logic. At least I may say truthfully that I have learned from the errors in my past and do not seek to repeat them."

"You are no better than I!" Moreau screamed.

"Is that so? Then explain why, if your quarrel is with me, you chose to abduct an innocent, to threaten her life merely as a tool to wound me." He gestured at the pistol still pressed menacingly to Christine's throat. "She is not the one you wish to harm. Release her."

"Oh, no," Moreau laughed. "No, I do not think I shall. Perhaps now that you have so kindly joined us I will kill her. Would that hurt, Erik? Would watching her die tear your heart asunder?"

"Seeing her die would do all that and more. Is that not why I came?" Erik glared. "If you harm her, even slightly, I will hunt you to the very ends of the earth. I now have the means to do so, you must realize. My father would back the attempt, as would my brother. There would be no place where you might be safe from my wrath. If you killed her, I would not grant you a merciful death. You would suffer for as long as I contrived to draw it out before I finally let you die. Every bit of pain she has been forced to endure because of you would be returned a thousand times over, and before the end you will be begging for mercy that I will not offer."

He very slowly stepped down into the lake, but Moreau jammed the pistol against her pulse harder. "Do you want her to die?"

"No. I want you to release her and send her to the surface. After that, we will settle things between us without interruption."

"I release her, and you would vanish moments later to set the police upon me!"

"This battle is personal. I do not intend to involve the _gendarme_."

"I don't believe you," he hissed.

"Believe what you will." Erik continued forward until he stood in the center of the lake. "I cannot easily reach any passages from this point, and I do not intend to move until after Christine has gone."

Moreau paused and considered before aiming the pistol at Erik's chest. "Untie her. Slowly."

Erik knew it was a trap. More, he intended to step into it. Christine realized it as well.

"Don't!" she protested again. "Erik, just leave! I promise, I'll be all right!"

His gaze met hers, and his eyes were calm. "You know I could not simply leave you."

"Erik, please," she pleaded. "I could not bear it if you died."

"Your life would go on," he answered. "You have friends, and you know that Monsieur le Vicomte loves you still. If I lost you, I would lose everything." He crossed the remaining distance in measured paces and caressed her cheek for one sweet moment. "I would do anything to be sure you were safe."

"I know," she whispered.

His hands shifted to the knotted ropes as he carefully loosened the bonds holding her in place.

A soft scraping sound was all the warning he received. Pivoting sharply, Erik interposed his body between Moreau and Christine as the madman swung his newly unsheathed weapon. It cut deeply into Erik's torso. The once Phantom collapsed without a sound, vanishing into the clouded waters.

"No!" Christine screamed, pulling desperately at her restraints, trying to free herself in order to reach him.

Moreau laughed. "And now he is gone! He will never interfere again!"

88888888

Sound was dulled by the pressing water, but Erik heard what was said. His wound burned viciously as his lungs began to protest the lack of air, but he forced the weakness away and focused. First, something had to be done for the wound- it was bad. The slash had crossed just beneath his ribs, ricocheting off one, and Erik suspected that if it had not he would already be dead. Grasping a piece of half rotted cloth from the bottom of the lake, he folded it into a thick pad and pressed it against the injury. The pain only increased, but he was confident it would slow the bleeding.

He knew only a little time remained before he would be forced to surface. In such a disadvantageous state, Erik had to be sure that he could strike quickly, or his rapidly waning state would make him an easy target. Moreau was not likely to fail a second time. He focused on his position.

Moreau's legs were not too far away, Christine's just a short distance beyond. Erik slipped around so that he was behind Moreau as he turned and waited for his voice to sound once more.

88888888

'Dead bodies would come to the surface,' Christine realized a moment later. 'They float. Erik… is not dead?' If Erik was not dead, he needed an opportunity. She could distract Moreau's attentions.

"Let me go!" she shouted. "You killed him! Erik!"

Moreau rounded on her. "It's no more than he deserved, fool girl. He ruined my life!"

With those words, Erik leapt from the water, hands closing around Moreau's throat. Moreau staggered back several paces, but he followed, grip never faltering.

"How can you still be alive!" the ex-Marquis snarled as he fought the choking hands.

"I live because I have something to hold me here," Erik responded coldly as he drove Moreau back further. "And now I will kill you for threatening that."

With his strength rapidly fading, Erik was not strong enough to snap Moreau's neck as he so deserved. Instead he kept his attention on maintaining his grasp. Force of will was all that kept it in place.

Struggling, Moreau managed to reach a concealed dagger, but his vision was fogged by lack of air. Flailing wildly, the knife connected, and silence fell for one long second.

Without aim, the blow had sliced through the band holding Erik's mask in place and scored a thin cut against his left cheekbone. His head had dropped immediately, but he lifted it again as the mask fell into the lake, blue eyes burning. Moreau was so shocked that he did not notice when Erik's grip momentarily grew slack.

Rather than the disfiguration he had seen before, nothing was there. The skin of Erik's cheek was smooth and unmarred save a few faint scars, and his eye did not sag. Moreau stumbled back as Erik followed.

"How is that possible!" he gasped with what little air remained in his lungs.

A deadly smile curved Erik's lips. "A miracle," he answered.

Though his words were filled with bravado, Erik was not sure. His strength was fleeing quickly and his mind was beginning to lose its grasp on reality. He feared he would lose consciousness at any moment. If he could not kill Moreau first… well, he had little doubt he would not awaken again, and Christine's fate would be dire.

The once Phantom made a herculean final effort, using every remaining ounce of his power to increase the pressure on Moreau's throat. To his surprise, he felt something give way against his assault, and their foe shuddered in his grasp. There was no hiss of breath now. He had crushed the other man's windpipe. He released the dead man and took a step back, watching as his form fell into the water. Even if he still survived, it would not be for long.

Christine, who had continued to work against her restraints after Erik had begun to loosen them, broke free as Erik slipped to his knees. Before he could fall into the lake entirely, she was there, supporting his weight as best she could and keeping his head above the surface. Her face paled as she saw the blood tingeing the water.

He lifted one hand, though the movement made his wound burn viciously, and touched her cheek. "At least… you are all right…"

"God," she gasped. "Erik! My God… are you…?"

"I do not intend… to die just yet…" he answered, but his voice was weak and his eyes closed. "He cannot hurt you… again…"

His body became still and Christine had to struggle to hold him in place. "Erik! Erik! Oh, God! Help!"

88888888

Raoul grumbled. "We cannot see a thing."

"As Erik intended as much, I am not surprised," Giles said. "No doubt Monsieur Khan is in a similar situation."

"Why would he send us here if we cannot see what is occurring!"

"He did not want us to be able to see below. We might be visible to the Marquis, or we might interfere and disrupt whatever he is doing."

"What if he has killed them both!" Raoul demanded.

Giles lifted one brow. "From what I am told, you and Monsieur Erik are not on the best of terms, yet you seem quite distraught."

"Christine is down there too," Raoul reminded.

"Yes, but I do not think that is all that concerns you right now. I think you might be cross the distance between yourself and your brother."

The Vicomte sighed but nodded. "He is not the same man. He is… calmer, I think. Certainly he is happier. He does not frighten me any more." A shout echoed through the air, and he tensed. "That was Christine!"

Giles listened. "She is saying… help? She is calling for help?"

"What else!" he demanded.

"Monsieur Erik's name and help. I have not heard anything else."

Raoul fumbled for the concealed lever to open the door. "We need to get to her."

Giles blocked him. "What if Moreau is still alive!" he snapped. "We could get them killed."

"Christine needs help!"

Nadir appeared behind them. "You heard that?"

They nodded, but Raoul paused and frowned. "I thought you were sent through another passage."

"Erik taught me the secrets of this place long ago. Each of the paths connect if you know where to look. I heard Miss Daaé calling for help, but I could not hope to see them from my location. However…" the Persian depressed a hidden trigger and a small window swung open. "Now we might be able to find out what has happened."

Raoul, the closest, peeked through. It took only a moment to locate Erik and Christine, alone in the center of the lake. "I do not see any sign of Moreau, but Erik is not moving." He froze. "There is blood in the water."

"Erik!" the Daroga shouted as he hurried to unseal the door. A moment later he took stock of the situation. "He is wounded badly. Giles, Vicomte, help Miss Daaé move Erik closer to the steps, but do not remove him from the water. I think it is all that is keeping him from bleeding out. I want the rest of you to find a litter or some other way to carry Monsieur Destler to a bed once a doctor has arrived. I am going to inform Madame Giry."

The men hurried to follow his orders. Raoul and Giles splashed out to Christine, and she looked up at them with tears in her eyes. "Erik- is he…?"

"I do not know," Raoul answered gently as he grasped one of his brother's arms. "Monsieur Khan has gone to Madame Giry. She will bring the doctor."

Giles took the other and together they carried him to the steps of the dock. Christine followed and held him again. "Can somebody get me a cloth to staunch the bleeding?" she called.

One of the stagehands hurried to one of the fallen curtains and used a dagger to tear away a large section. He passed it to her, and she folded it into a thick pad and pressed it against the wound. Erik flinched but did not wake up.

88888888

Nadir tore up the passage and leapt into Christine's dressing room with a clatter. Madame Giry was there at once, demanding to know what had happened.

"No time," he snapped, cutting her off. "I am sorry to be rude, Madame, but I cannot speak now. Fetch the doctor and lead him to Erik's home immediately. He is wounded."

The ballet mistress nodded sharply and raced through the halls, her daughter at her heels. Throwing open the door, she took the steps to Erik's box two at a time and burst in.

"Messieurs," she gasped, "pardon my interruption, but I am told one of you is a doctor?"

"We both are," Dr. Edwards replied, startled. "Dear God in Heaven, woman, whatever is the matter!"

"Monsieur Destler has been wounded," she explained shortly. "I was sent for help."

Edwards and Douglass leapt to their feet. "What happened?" Douglass asked.

"I have no details, Monsieur. I beg you to hurry- I fear it must be quite bad or Monsieur Khan would not have been in such a panic."

Edwards nodded, all business. "Will medical supplies be available for our use, or must I send for my own?"

Madame Giry shook her head. "Erik keeps such things. I will bring them to you once we have arrived. We must hurry!"

"Of course. Douglass, do you stay here?"

The elder doctor shook his head. "He's a good lad. I'd like to see myself that he'll be well."

"If you wish. Mrs. Giry, if you would lead us to him? Is he in his flat?"

"No," she answered shortly as she proceeded down the steps to rejoin Meg. "He is in the catacombs beneath the opera house, in his old home."

"At least that is a small mercy," Edwards said as he followed her. "The chill may put him at risk of fever, but it will also slow the bleeding if he is wounded. He has a strong constitution, so he should survive."

"I hope so, Monsieur."

She led them to Christine's dressing room, and they paused to observe the broken vases and the mirror.

"What happened here?" Douglass asked.

"An enemy of Erik and his fiancée abducted her just after the performance."

Edwards sighed. "I was afraid that something would happen soon."

Madame Giry paused. "You knew?"

"Yes. I have contacts in the darker places of Paris. They brought word of danger, knowing that I was acquainted with Mr. Destler."

"I imagine the man will not cause them grief again," said the ballet instructor. "We should continue. The path is long."

Through fortune, Moreau had not located any of the controls for Erik's traps, so the way was primarily safe. A few, traps that he left active at all times because they were unlikely to prove fatal, remained but they were simple to avoid and caused no difficulty. They reached the edge of the lake unharmed, and the Daroga met them there.

"The boat was damaged during Moreau's occupation," he informed Madame Giry. "I can lead you to his house another way."

"How is he?" she asked as they followed him. "Does he survive?"

"I know very little of his condition, Madame, save that the wound is likely terrible. Miss Daaé is unharmed that I can see, and she is supporting Erik. I thought it best to move them closer to the house to expedite getting Erik treated. They are resting on the steps of the dock."

"But will he survive?" Madame Giry pressed.

"That I cannot tell you. It is for the doctors to decide."

Edwards spoke up. "I can say nothing certain until I have seen the wound, but Mr. Destler has a great deal of strength. He passed through a complicated surgery with no difficulty and has survived many other near-fatal wounds. I would be very surprised if this should prove different."

"Yes, Erik has survived a great deal," Madame agreed, "but he has grown unaccustomed to the cold and the damp of the catacombs. That may be in his favor where his wound is concerned, but a fever could take him just as easily."

"That is true enough," Douglass agreed, "but Jonathon has a fine skill for medicine. If there's a way to do it, Jonathon will save the lad."

Nadir glanced back at Edwards for a moment. "You must be the surgeon Erik went to see a month past. Would you be the one responsible for that change to his face, then?"

"That I am," Dr. Edwards answered. "He wished to keep it secret until he knew the results. I did a final evaluation just last night."

"And the fool said naught," muttered the Persian. "Had he but mentioned it then, or even earlier today, we might have been able to properly celebrate the news. Now it is vastly eclipsed by the current state of things."

"Worry over it later," Douglass suggested. "Now it is of the utmost importance to see that the lad survives to enjoy his handsome new face."

The passage Nadir led them through, the same Erik had taken himself not too long before, terminated in the library. He took the men ahead as Madame Giry hurried to locate Erik's medical supplies. Edwards looked about and took command of the situation.

"Use that litter and get him to the nearest bed. The cold has done all it can, and now we must warm him before fever sets in."

"My room is closest," Christine contributed even as she shivered and stared worriedly at Erik's pained expression. "Just up the steps to the right."

"That is a great help, thank you, Miss. Quickly, men. If you value your employer's life, you had best heed my commands." Edwards' orders allowed for no argument, but he was calm.

Several of the stagehands had to work together to shift Erik to the stretcher they had located. Christine would not relinquish his hand as they carried him to the swan bed and set him against its red velvet sheets.

Douglass caught her shoulder. "It's most clear by your actions and his that you are devoted to one another, but right now you must think of yourself as well. You're soaked to the skin, lass, and it would not do if you collapsed and forced Jonathon to divide his attention."

"What?" She blinked a few times before realizing that he spoke truly. "Oh, God, you're right. I cannot hope to help him if I become ill as well. What do I do?"

"Get yourself dried off and change into something warm. You needn't stay in this cold place. We will send word to you of his condition."

Christine shook her head. "I can't leave. Not when he risked everything to save me. I have things here."

"Well, see that you change, lass, and be very careful. Take the other girl with you so she might warn us if you go into a swoon."

She looked about and spotted Meg's fair hair. "Meg. Yes, she can help. I just have to gather some dry things."

Meg came when she called and assisted her in choosing a warm gown from her wardrobe before ushering her away, informing her mother that they would be making use of Erik's quarters. The older woman nodded before her gaze turned once more to Christine's chamber as the doctor cared for the wound and did his best to return warmth to her brother's frigid limbs. Raoul joined her moments later.

"I went to my parents," he said quietly. "I thought it best they heard it now rather than in the morning's news."

"And what did they say? Do they mean to ignore the plight of their eldest son?"

Madame Giry could not ease her condemnation of the Comte and Comtesse. Had they given more credence to the tale told by herself, Erik, Christine, and Raoul, they might have taken a hand in preventing what had occurred that night.

The Vicomte sighed. "Erik did not want their assistance, you must realize. When Father offered he turned them down. He said that he had spent so long on his own that he did not require another man's aid to protect himself and those near to him."

"Had your parents been kinder those years might not have been passed in isolation."

"True," he admitted, sadness heavy in his tone. "Still, they say freely that it was a terrible mistake to treat Erik as they did. Father is making arrangements for Erik to be transported to the estate. He can rest more comfortably there."

"Rather than worry over where he might recover," Madame said finally, "we had best pray that he will need a place to do so and not a grave. The doctor's expression did not bode well when he was able to look at the wound closely."

"Did it not?" Edwards asked tiredly as he stepped from the room. "My apologies, then. I did not mean to worry you."

"How is he?" the Daroga demanded as he reached them. Christine looked up from her place at the organ bench. "Will he live?"

"With any luck, yes." The doctor raised his hands against several voices speaking at once. "I cannot make any guarantees. To be quite honest that wound should have killed him. Miss Daaé, was he moving in any way as it occurred?"

Christine nodded. "He turned. His back had been to Moreau."

"It is a very good thing he did, or he would not be alive now. Had the blow connected as it was intended, it would have severed the spinal column. Perhaps with a great deal of good fortune and immediate medical attention he might have survived, but he would never have been able to walk again."

She swallowed. "What must we do to be sure he lives?"

"There is little that can be done now," Dr. Edwards answered. "I have cared for the wound and done what I could to prevent any infection, but I will not lie and say all will be well. The water's chill kept him alive long enough for me to reach him, but it was not clean and I will not be surprised if he develops a fever."

Madame Giry began to say something, but Christine interrupted. "Then we must make sure he is as comfortable as possible, and someone must be with him at all times. I would love to do so, but he would not want me to abandon what we have worked so hard for. Someone must be able to care for him if I cannot."

"Father has made arrangements to transport him to the family estate," Raoul contributed. "With a full staff, we could see to his comfort and be sure he is not left unattended."

"No," she disagreed quietly. "Erik would not want a stranger to be near when he wakes. It must be someone he counts as a friend, as someone he can trust."

"I cannot stay away from my practice for long," Edwards said, "but I can stay with him for a day."

"Actually, Jonathon, if you've no pressing need for me, I'd be happy to monitor the lad. You must care for the practice, I know, but I am not needed there. I can care for him until he is well again," Douglass suggested.

"That would suit nicely, I think. Monsieur le Vicomte, I suggest that every arrangement for Monsieur Destler's transport is seen to before we even consider moving him. What way would be the swiftest from these tunnels?"

"For safety, the passage you came through," Nadir told them. "For time, it would be the path to Rue Scribe, but that is heavily guarded because it is easily found."

"Is there any way to disarm the traps?" Raoul asked.

The Persian shook his head. "If there is, only Erik knows the secret. There are some things he kept even from me. However, if you know where to look, they can be avoided with relative ease."

"Would you know?" Edwards asked Christine.

"No. I never entered this place without Erik to guide me."

Meg laid a hand on Christine's shoulder. "You are behaving admirably, but surely you must be upset?"

"Upset?" Christine laughed tiredly. "I am frightened, Meg. Very frightened. I just cannot give into my tears until I have said whatever may be of use to Erik."

Douglass joined the girls near the organ and patted Christine's head. "There now, lass, you've done all that you could, and we'll see to the rest. If you've a need for tears, there's no shame in indulging now. Will you be coming with us?"

She nodded. "For tomorrow at least I will stay with Erik as well, but I cannot abandon the opera."

"Erik would understand," Raoul protested. "You do not have to force yourself."

The young soprano sighed. "It is not that simple, Raoul. The Populaire has suffered because of our scandalous reputations. If this opera does not succeed… This has been our dream for so many years. I cannot let it be destroyed now. Tomorrow my understudy may sing Aminta as I take the time to clear my mind, but the people are paying to see me. The Populaire will not fail because I was weak."

"That is very admirable, my dear," Madame Giry said with a wan smile. "Still, I am glad that you will take a day before you return. I will see to matters here."

"Thank you, Madame," Christine agreed before bursting into tears. Meg joined her on the bench and held her close as she cried.

88888888

AN: So? Thoughts? Any thoughts? All thoughts? Come on, guys, throw me a few bones. This chapter cost me several hours of sleep when I couldn't get it to come out just the way I wanted it to. The confrontation was _tough_. Please review! Please! Till next time!


	22. Chapter 22

AN: Yes, I'm updating again. Like before, my beta's MIA, so this is essentially unedited since I find it hard to look at my work objectively until it's been a while. I didn't want to make you wait, my dear readers, so hear it is.

Disclaimer: Nothing's changed, so I don't own anything.

88888888

Erik woke to sunlight and nagging pains. Unsure of where he was or what had happened, he struggled to open his eyes and looked about.

He was lying on a settee beneath a canopy of some sort in the midst of a garden. It was familiar, but his mind was still dulled by sleep and he could not place it. Attempting to move intensified the pains that had awakened him and informed him that he was quite weak.

"You're finally awake, are you?"

He knew the voice and slowly turned his head to locate it. Oliver Douglass was leaning against a tree no more than two paces away, watching him.

"It would appear as much." He was shocked by how raspy and worn his voice seemed. "What happened?"

"Don't you recall?" the anaesthetist asked sympathetically. "Well, it's not hard to fathom. You've been asleep for many a day, lad. Give your poor mind a moment or two to clear."

The once Phantom obeyed and closed his eyes to attempt to recall his most recent activities. He could remember his opera being performed to great accolades. Something else…

"Christine," he realized abruptly. "Moreau took her. Is she all right!" He began to attempt to get to his feet, but Douglass pushed him down.

"Settle yourself, lad. The lass is fine- no serious injury, not even a chill. You should be more concerned for yourself. You took a nasty wounding saving her."

Erik's hand came to rest on his stomach, and he felt the ridges of bandages. "He thought to kill me, saying I had ruined his life. I suppose in a way he believed that removing me would undo it."

"Take a drink, lad," Douglass urged as he pressed a cup to his lips. "You've a sore throat, I would wager. We had to keep you sedated for a time or you might have torn your stitches and it was a difficult battle to make sure you lived already. The drugs are coming out of your system, but you have had very little to eat or drink while you were unconscious."

Erik swallowed the warm cider. "How long has it been?"

"Several days. You ran a high fever and we were afraid that it might kill you. Fortunately you are very strong, and the fever broke early yesterday morning."

"Where is Christine?"

Even as the words crossed his lips, the soprano hurried across the neatly manicured lawn to join him. It was clear that she had just arrived as she half collapsed to the grass beside him and taking his hand.

"You are awake," she murmured, and relief lit her eyes. "I was beginning to think… It is not important now. We must focus on getting you well again."

"To think what?" he pressed.

She bit her lower lip. "We were afraid you would die. The wound cost you so much blood, and the catacombs were so cold… I stayed by your side the entire first day, but you grew feverish."

Erik caressed her cheek gently, not caring that it took most of his badly decimated strength. "Where were you?"

"At the Populaire," she answered. "I wanted to stay with you, but I knew how important it was to make this opera a success."

He glanced at the setting sun. "If you have been performing, why are you not there now?"

"Today was the matinee, Erik."

"The matinee? That was not scheduled for more than a week after the gala."

"It has been more than a week since a gala." Her words were sad and his eyes locked with hers. "You have been unconscious for a long time, Angel. That is why I was afraid. I began to fear you would not survive the fever. Clarisse sang for me that first night after you were wounded, but I could not abandon all we have worked for."

He was shocked. "I have been unconscious for so long? Was it truly so bad?"

"It certainly looked very troublesome when Jonathon and I first came to treat you, lad," Douglass told him. "We were thinking perhaps you would not last the night. When the fever struck, we thought those fears confirmed, but you proved a fighter indeed. I will not guarantee anything yet, but I think you have defied the odds."

"I should have died, then. How bad was the wound?"

Douglass shook his head. "Your luck is uncanny. If the sword had struck as that villain intended, you almost certainly would have died, and barring that you would never have walked again. Still, you lost a great deal of blood. I believe the only reason you did not die then was because the blow rebounded off a rib. It was a miracle no vital organs were damaged."

Erik sighed and closed his eyes against the bright sun. "Where am I?"

"Your parents thought it best that you rest away from the city," Christine explained quietly. "You were becoming restless as I left this morning, so your father suggested that you be given some fresh air. I suppose he was correct, since you woke up."

"It is… nice…" he said. "I do not truly feel the need to lie about outside, however. I would have done well enough inside."

"Your father is doing his best to ensure a full recovery for you," said Douglass. "He has been paying me to monitor you. In truth, he would have liked to have Jonathon be the one to do so, but Jonathon could not leave the practice for so long."

"Yes, I am acceptable now that I am not flawed." He could not hide the bitterness in the words.

Christine caressed his cheek, and he realized there was a bandage there as well. "He is worried for his son. Had you been less stubborn, he would have been there sooner."

Erik chose not to argue. His own hand came up to his left cheek. "He cut my face."

She nodded. "It is nothing to worry about, but we kept it covered while you were feverish to protect it. I can remove the bandage for you."

He looked at her. "You never said a word. Even when my face was first revealed, you made no mention. You did not react at all. Do you not care?"

The young soprano smiled. "Should it matter? I am not bothered by your scars, be they on your face or any other part of you. I learned to see past them. This?" Her fingers trailed across skin that had once borne such an injury. "This is how you have looked to me for a long while. Now others can see it as well."

He yawned, unable to stop it. "For a man that has slept for so many days, I seem to need to do so again."

"That is how you will heal," Douglass agreed. "I will wake you when there is food prepared."

Erik's eyes slipped closed. "Thank you."

"You needn't say thanks, lad. It's a friend you are, and I like my friends to live."

88888888

After that, Erik was allowed to pass a few hours in the garden each day. He remained too weak to stand or walk about, but the servants took care to assist in any way possible. He saw little of his family, but Christine spent every moment with him once she returned to the estate. He had told her that it would be better for her to stay in their flat, but she refused, saying that she would be with him whenever she could. He was too pleased to argue much on the subject. She endured the hour's trip every day to the theatre, and the same to return.

He healed slowly now, rather than the uncanny speed of healing that he had previously enjoyed. It reminded him of his age, reminded him that he was not quite so young. Two weeks later he remained unable to walk, and it frustrated him, prompting Douglass' amusement.

"Why is this funny!" Erik snapped.

"It's nothing so terrible, lad. I consider it a sign of healing when a patient has become so irritable."

"Yet I am still not permitted to even attempt to stand."

"That wound tore a few muscles, lad, and it is healing still. To attempt too soon might harm you further," Douglass explained patiently. For the tenth time that afternoon. "Until those muscles have repaired themselves, it will accomplish nothing."

"And how much longer must I wait?" he demanded.

"A few days more, I'm sorry to say. I'll see if the cook's got your meal prepared."

Erik's angry muttering continued, but he allowed his attention to return to the book he had been reading. When he heard someone's approach, he frowned.

"I do not want to eat a single bit more broth or gruel."

"An understandable position, son, but you should heed the doctor's instructions."

The word 'son' set Erik on guard. "Monsieur le Comte, this is a rare pleasure. What brings you to the garden this afternoon?"

"I was after a word with you, Erik. I thought it was high time we discussed the matter of your title and inheritance."

"I am not titled and have more than sufficient personal wealth," Erik replied coolly.

"That is not enough and you know it. By rights you are my heir. Your brother has held what should have been yours long enough."

The once Phantom carefully closed his book and set it aside. "Why does this come up now? I passed the entire winter here and not a word was said on the matter."

"Had I broached the subject then you would only have walked away. Right now you cannot do so," the Comte observed.

He was sorely tempted to try. "I suppose I cannot, but that does not mean I am any more inclined to listen."

"You _are_ my heir. I expect you to accept that."

"I have no interest in becoming Comte. My brother may have the title."

"Erik," the Comte said sternly, "this is not a choice. You are my heir, as you always should have been."

Erik looked up at his father, irritated by the inequality of their positions. Nicolas de Chagny did not seem distressed or angry, but he did seem determined, and that gave him pause.

"I do not see why you insist upon foisting that position upon me when I neither desire it nor have the tools to see it done," he finally commented.

"Those things can be caught, and you are a clever man. You might not wish for the position, but should you not consider that it would be a legacy for any children you and Mademoiselle Daaé might have?"

Erik began to respond, but Douglass hurried over with a tray. "Enough, enough. No disrespect, sir, but the lad still needs peace. If he becomes agitated it may slow his recovery."

"Very well. Think on what I have said, Erik." The elder man returned to the mansion as his son glared at his back.

"Settle down, lad."

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. "It seems my family will never lose the ability to drive me mad."

Douglass chuckled. "They never do, no. Now what has you so badly riled?"

"Monsieur le Comte is of the opinion that I should inherit when the time comes," Erik answered.

"And that is a problem?" Douglass asked. "To have a position, wealth, prestige? To be able to pass that on to any children you might have? To be capable of aiding those that need it?"

Erik frowned. "You ask a number of difficult questions. Here is mine. Why should I abandon the dream I have finally reached for a title that I do not care for and responsibility I was not taught to uphold?"

"No one told you to sacrifice the opera house, lad. More, as the head of the family, there would be no one in a position to force you to do so. You already run the business under a different name, so why should your inheriting matter?"

"Do I dare wonder why you are siding with my father on the matter?" Erik sighed.

"I am not taking his side," Douglass answered as he set Erik's tray on his lap. "I am agreeing with him, but I am doing so because I see a lad that has suffered a great deal and deserves what should have been his for his whole life. I think that in such a position, you would be able to aid those that suffer as you did."

"You have a knack for forcing a person to face a difficult truth," he observed.

"Aye, true enough. Jonathon has said the same now and again. Still, there's time enough to fret over the whys later. Now we must focus on getting you better so you can return to your life."

88888888

When Erik was freed of his imposed bed rest, it was still difficult. Most of his strength had been consumed battling the fever that had gripped him for so long and in healing the wound he had suffered. There would be another scar now, curving along his side and across his chest. His face had healed better, the cut there leaving no mark at all.

Progress began to show more rapidly, however. Each day he could walk further, though at first he was forced to lean heavily against Douglass or a walking stick. It took a week before he could move without it, and he tired far sooner than he would have. After ten minutes on his feet, he would often find himself back in bed exhausted.

Still he pressed on. The issue of inheriting weighed on him, and he worked physically to distract himself. He remained resolute only in not desiring the position, though he understood the reasons that might force him to accept it. For Christine and any children they might have it would be beneficial.

He knew that before his wounding, he would never have even considered allowing himself to be pressed into it. His anger had been too raw still, after so many years wishing for acceptance he had never gained. The title would have felt like little more than a trap. In a way it continued to- Erik had no liking for society and its rules.

He realized Christine was largely behind the change. He had encountered death on too many occasions to count, and he rarely fretted over the risk to his own life. Seeing her in such danger had served as a warning of sorts. He could not allow the darkness he had lived in to take her, which meant he had to find a way to create a stable life for them. Inheriting his father's position would be a strong protection for her.

More, Douglass had been very clever to encourage thoughts of aiding others. He would not say his father was a poor Comte that did not aid those that depended on him, but he had no contact with the lower walks of life and thus did not have sympathy for what might have caused it.

Erik sighed. His thoughts were in turmoil and scarcely made sense, serving only to rile his emotions. He had come to the garden, as was now habit, to walk amongst the trees and flowers, and he did not want to ruin that peace with unwelcome anger.

"Erik?"

It seemed clear he would not be so easily allowed to set that possibility aside. Slowly, he faced his mother.

Lorraine de Chagny was a tiny woman, not even to his shoulder in her heeled boots. She shared Raoul's light hair, but her blue eyes were precisely the same as Erik's own. At the moment she was twisting her hands nervously, clearly ill at ease but desperate to speak with him just the same.

"I wanted to see if you were well," she said, words rushed by discomfort. "I know I have avoided you since you arrived, but it seemed, well… cowardly to do so. Had it been your brother, I would scarce have left his side, and I felt so guilty."

"Monsieur le Vicomte would likely have welcomed the company. I do not, so there is no need for guilt in this."

The Comtesse winced, wounded by his formal words. "I do not want to make matters worse between us. I came to apologize. I was young, and foolish. I do not know what made me act so, but I have regretted it from the moment it occurred. I understand you are hurt by what I did," she continued, "but I cannot bear knowing you hate me so."

Erik's laugh was icy. "Then you may assuage your wounded pride. I do not hate you. Rather, I feel nothing for you at all."

Her blue eyes widened, and tears glistened against the lashes. "You can't mean that."

He thought of holding firm, but his anger had gone out of him with his wounding. He no longer had the strength left to rage against a wrong long since done to him. More, so many had pressed him to see that there was no reason to continue living in memories of the past. Her crime had been eased by the removal of the evidence, in a way. Without a reminder in the mirror, the sharpness of his temper was dull.

"No," he sighed finally. "I mean it, in a way, but not as I intended you to believe. Now I am too tired to be angry, or to feel much at all." He turned away again. "Anger sustained me over the years, giving me the will to survive. Now I cannot seem to find it. I have not forgiven what you did, but I am no longer angry."

"Does that mean we have a chance?"

"Perhaps. It could be this easing in my temper is but temporary, and that when I have healed I will return to the way things were. However, I suspect that I have finally realized that there is no reason to continue living in such a rage."

"I will make it up to you," his mother vowed quietly. "No matter what it will take, I will do my best to give you whatever it is you might need."

She hurried away before he could respond, and he looked again to the trees before sinking tiredly to the divan still set out for him beneath the canopy.

"That was very sweet," Christine said as she joined him.

He was not surprised by her appearance. Today was the second matinee performance, so she would just have returned to the estate. She took a seat on the generously cushioned settee and he shifted to lie with his head in her lap.

"You heard?" Erik asked.

She nodded. "I did not want to interrupt. I am proud of you, Erik. For surviving, for being willing to try. It is a wonder to see."

"My father wishes me to be Comte," he informed her mildly. He had said nothing of it in the days since it had first been mentioned, but he thought it was time to do so.

"What do you want?"

A faint smile curved his lips. "You, our love, and our music. It is what I have always wanted, is it not?"

She brushed a few strands of hair from his face. "Yes, but you have those things now. What is next?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "In my heart, I have no desire for a title, or the leadership of the family, but I also see the good that can come of it. It is strange after so long to lack direction."

"If you think there is something you can accomplish by inheriting your father's position, perhaps you should," Christine suggested.

"Ah, my Angel, you are not the only one that says such things. Still, my brother has been trained to become Comte, and I have not. I am satisfied with the Populaire."

"Raoul does not want it," she told him. "He never did. His love is for excitement, challenge. He would prefer to see new things every day rather than remain in one place as would be expected."

"I will speak to him of it soon, I suppose. Still, enough of that. How goes the opera?"

"The show continues to be popular, as you know," Christine answered. "The audiences wish that you were on stage again, but the story of our drama in your home has garnered their understanding as well as their interest. I think that when you are ready they would be happy to hear you sing once more. Raoul cares for some aspects of the work, and Messieurs Khan and Giles see to the rest. Madame Giry and Monsieur Reyer have kept the cast in line, and we have begun rehearsals for the next production."

"I had scarcely thought of a new show," Erik admitted. "What did you choose?"

"I thought perhaps _Hannibal_," she answered. "Madame agreed. Would that suit?"

He nodded. "It should do quite nicely. My understudy?"

"He is uncomfortable yet, but he plays the role well. _Hannibal_ will suit him better."

Raoul walked up to join them. As Erik had regained his strength, he had returned to Paris, so his younger brother often aided him when he was available to do so.

"Mother has set out tea," he told them. "She asked that I request you join us."

Christine glanced down at her attire, slightly limp with the day's work and travel. "I should change first, I think." She caressed Erik's cheek before turning to the manor.

The Vicomte assisted his elder brother to his feet. Erik winced, tired already from his exertions. "Be careful," he cautioned. "I know you have already walked more today than you did yesterday."

"Do you intend to bludgeon me with advice as well?"

Raoul's laugh was cheery. "No, I should think not. You would not heed any advice I had to give. Actually, I suspect you would do the opposite simply to prove me wrong."

Grudgingly, Erik admitted to himself that the younger man was correct. "Still, I have been forced to confront my position with all others. You have not pressed for anything."

"We put each other through a great deal of trouble, trouble I survived only because you spared me when I was too much a fool to see what should have been obvious. I think pushing you now would result only in further enmity. If we are to ever form any sort of bond, it will be done when we are ready."

Erik stared. "That may be the most sensible thing you have ever said."

"I could not remain a fool forever."

88888888

AN: Yeah, this is almost it. Just the epilogue is left before the story's marked complete. Thanks for sticking around through everything, readers. The epilogue's not necessary if you don't want to read it- it's just a bit of wrapping up and connecting this to the black and white scenes of the movie. Reviews, please! I've spent ten months on this story and I'd really appreciate hearing what you have to say. Till the epilogue, if you want to read it, and if not, hopefully I'll see you in my next phanfic!


	23. Epilogue

AN: Okay, to be honest, I didn't expect to have this ready for a few days, but I guess I couldn't stop. This part was something I have had in mind almost from the beginning. Hopefully you'll like it, and bear with me if it's not perfect. If you guys want to tell me where to fix it up, I'd appreciate it.

Disclaimer: Since nothing changed from earlier this afternoon, I still don't own anything.

88888888

Erik watched the auction from the rafters. After all the years he had spent there, the Populaire was to be torn down and replaced with a new business- a music school, something his children had wished to create. War had shut the opera house down before, and Christine's death had made it certain that he would not open it again. What happened to it now mattered little, but he had not been able to stay away from its final moments of memory.

He recognized his brother when he arrived, of course. The younger man had been kept away for several years by travel restrictions set in place during wartime, and after it had ended his ill health had delayed the trip longer still. Raoul had not sent word of his coming, but Erik had suspected he would. In a way this closing of the Populaire was a second burial for his beloved Christine.

His mind wandered back, as it had become prone to in these last years of his life. He remembered how long he had fought to recover from his wounding. More than a month after he had awakened from the fever, Dr. Edwards had warily observed that it was possible the damaged muscles would prevent Erik from returning to the stage. He had railed against the injustice of it, and a part of him burned with his old anger, wishing Moreau was yet alive that he might kill him again. Instead, Christine had soothed it away and encouraged him to do his best and to not lose hope.

He had consented to become Comte, disinterested though he was. He understood that his younger brother would never be satisfied to remain in one place with one set of responsibilities. Instead, he allowed Raoul to remain Vicomte and to pursue his own dreams as Erik trained under his father. Once satisfied, Nicolas de Chagny had passed the title down and retired with Lorraine to a small corner of the de Chagny estate.

Erik had married Christine, of course. With the end of the opera's season, they had a quiet ceremony in the church that she had preferred. His family had attended, as had those they were close to. Once it was done they began to tour Europe together, enjoying the time away in places where no one knew of the Phantom of the Opera or their scandalous past. They were simple Erik and Christine.

He did return to the stage. After their return from their honeymoon, he began to work like a madman to regain the strength necessary to sing the long parts of an opera. He composed as well, and by the time the second season began they were ready to produce a new opera. He ironically titled it _Phantom of the Opera_- an opera that was a mirror of their early relationship. Unsurprisingly, the press hung on every word, and speculation flew regarding the veracity of it.

Christine chose to bow out after the third season. She still sang professionally, but only for whatever new show Erik had prepared. Instead, her attention became fixed on their children.

The first was a son, Gustave. He looked just like his mother, with a wild cap of brown curls and wide brown eyes. From his father, he had inherited the skill with any instrument he touched.

The second was a little girl, two and a half years after her brother. Her name was Adrienne, and her father doted on her lavishly. She, too, looked much the same as Christine, but she had Erik's blue eyes. She was a composer, and extremely fond of her pipe organ.

Following Adrienne was Brice and Faye, twins that looked much the same as their father. Both were freckled, but Brice was quiet while his sister possessed a great deal of Erik's impish nature. Wildly impetuous, she was a sharp contrast to her calmly rational brother. The twins were just over a year younger than Adrienne. Both were singers. Brice sounded much as Erik did, while Faye was just like Christine. Artists as well, Faye specialized in sculpting or carving while her brother favored paints and ink.

The youngest was Charlotte, more than four years after the birth of the twins. Her uncle had been home on the night of her birth and was named her godfather, thus resulting in her place as the new "Little Lotte" in the family. She bore the looks of the de Chagnys, fair of hair and skin. Unlike her siblings, she was not much of a musician. She played the violin, but had no desire to do so professionally though the others all sought positions at one institute or another. Instead, her interest was in business.

When the elder children showed no interest in inheriting the family title, Erik began to train Charlotte in the position. There was some disagreement amongst other nobles, who might have sought to wed their children to the heiress, but Erik stated very firmly that his daughter would be the next head of the family and that he would only want her to pass on the title when she wished it. It had been fortunate the man she married had no interest in usurping her.

It was easier to think of his children, Erik realized with a tired smile. They remained, grown, yes, but they were still near if he wished for the company. Still, he knew that the only one whose presence he craved was beyond him. Christine had been dead for two years.

In some strange way, he wished it had been injury or illness that had taken her, but it had not. Christine had died of little more than age, and it frustrated him when he was more than fifteen years her senior. He did not enjoy being alone. Erik knew he should be glad that she had gone peacefully, without pain or regret, but he continued to wish that he had not been left behind.

88888888

_ Age had done little to rob his wife of her beauty, he thought. Her curls had become grey and her skin was slightly lined, but he could easily see her in the glory of her youth. Her heart was beginning to fail, and it pained her a little, but his knowledge of herb-lore eased it well and allowed her to rest in comfort. Their children quietly allowed them to be alone in what all knew would be her final hours. They had already had the chance to say good-bye. _

_ Erik sat by her bedside without pause, his hands clasping one of hers. Christine would be his first true loss, the first loss that would destroy him. Nadir Khan had passed away, and it had pained him, but it was nothing to what he currently felt though she had not yet died. The loss of his parents had caused no more than a brief period of sadness for what might have been. Though they had mended the bridges, there had been no real bond of kinship. _

_ Christine opened her eyes and met his. "Erik, you should sleep."_

_ "I will not leave you."_

_ Her smile had broken his heart. "You never will. You are my heart, my Angel, and you always will be. You do not have to watch me die."_

_ "I do. I will not sacrifice even a second of the time you have left. I will be here until the end," he vowed._

_ She laid her other hand over his. "You would not be missing much. It will not be long now."_

_ "Don't say that," he whispered. "You might yet recover. The doctor…"_

_ "The doctor has said there is nothing to be done. It's time, Erik. I am ready."_

_ "I am not," Erik admitted. "You cannot leave me alone. I will follow."_

_ "No. You cannot just give up, Angel, and you are not alone. What of our children? Would you deprive them of both parents at once? You must live, at least for a time. Settle your affairs; watch to see that all is well here. You will follow when the time is right."_

_ "I will," he agreed, sadness in every word, "but you must wait for me."_

_ "Even if it took a thousand years," she promised. _

_ "Is there anything I can do?"_

_ "Sing for me," Christine requested. "Just sing for me, this one last time."_

_ He was choking back tears. "The same song?"_

_ She nodded. "Please."_

_ He did, singing words that had crossed his lips so many times before, watching as her breath grew shallow. He shifted one hand to her heart with the last words and felt its last beats._

_ "You alone can make my song take flight. Help me make the music of the night…"_

_ Erik sank to their bed and wept as he finished, knowing that her heart would not beat again. He had not cried since that terrible day when she had left him behind, but now he could not ease the sobs that tore from his throat. His beautiful, beloved Christine, his precious wife, and she was gone…_

_ His eldest son stepped into the room and placed his hands on his father's shoulders. When Gustave spoke, his voice too shook with tears._

_ "She is in no pain. She has gone to God, to Heaven to rejoin her father and her friend. Grand__-père__ and Aunt Meg will welcome her."_

_ Erik could hardly recall Meg at the moment. The ballerina had married well to a Baron through a dowry he had gifted to her, but she had died giving birth to her child. Tragically, that babe had died no more than three days later. The loss had nearly destroyed her mother. _

_ The others filed in, their spouses respectfully remaining outside. Adrienne, Brice, Faye and Gustave turned their attention to their mother as Charlotte embraced her father._

_ "It will be all right, Papa," she murmured. "We are still here for you.__ Maman__ would want you to be happy again."_

_ Happy, he had thought with a derisive laugh. Happy without her? Without her laugh, her smile, her song, her love? He would not be happy in a life that was filled with reminders of a woman he could no longer hold close. Had she not asked, he would have seen to it that he followed her as quickly as possible. He did not want to linger. He only wanted to be with his Christine. _

88888888

In a way, Christine's death had destroyed Erik. It was only his children that held him still, and it had been a battle for him to feel anything except grief. Madame Giry had stood by him through it, always pressing him to live still rather than to bury his heart with his wife. He knew she clung to him because he was the last of her children.

She was at the auction, of course, though he was unsure if she knew that he was as well. He watched a high-class fool carry out a poster of La Carlotta with a derisive snort. The next item, however, caught his attention.

It was his music box. The box he had crafted after meeting a lonely child, the box that had played at her bedside that first night she passed in his home. He wondered idly which of his children had led the workers to the house by the lake. Erik and Christine had taken their children there before, when they had begun to explain their past. Adrienne had claimed it for herself as she aged, saying that she could compose more easily there.

He was quietly surprised when his brother outbid Madame Giry for the box, holding it with a strange expression. After that he saw no reason to linger. He slipped down and away, into the stables. He slowly stroked the horse's nose before mounting.

Erik had no interest in the new automobiles. They were noisy and uncomfortable. Instead, he continued to use horses. He turned the black stallion out into the quiet back streets of Paris, those not yet altered to accommodate an automobile. Once free of the city limits, the stallion stretched into a lengthy gallop. After several minutes, he pulled back the reins and eased to a trot.

The cemetery looked just as it had that day so long ago that he had come with Christine to her father's grave, unknowing though she had been. There was no snow yet on the ground, but he could smell it on the air. He drew one of his roses from his pocket and laid it on the tombstone after tethering the horse in a sheltered copse not too far away, out of sight though it was. The engagement ring Raoul had given her was tied to its stem. When he heard a motorcar's approach, he stepped back and vanished amidst the trees.

It was his brother, he knew. Raoul would come here, to Christine, before he dared approach the family estate. He had loved her, Erik knew. Perhaps not as Erik did, but he did not doubt that Raoul truly cared for her. He had been in a wheelchair before, but now he walked to her grave slowly and set the music box against the stone. His movements were jerky and uneven, proof of the stroke that had left the right side of his body paralyzed some years ago. Erik stepped out of hiding and waved his attendants away before assisting Raoul to a nearby bench.

The Vicomte looked at his elder brother and shook his head. "I should have known you would be here now. Why were you not at the auction?"

"I was. After you purchased my music box, I did not linger. I cared little for whatever else there was." He looked at the other man, recognized the look in his eyes. "She did not suffer."

"No, I imagine she didn't." Raoul stared at the stone. "In a way, it still seems like a nightmare. She was the youngest of us, yet she is dead while we linger."

"Yes."

"Christine gone. It is unfathomable. She and Meg always seemed so young, so vibrant."

"You did not return for Meg's funeral. You did not see her toward the end."

He nodded sadly. "I thought to come, but it would have been uncomfortable. We were not close."

"She was in awe of you for several years. Blind as you are, you never saw it."

"Perhaps." He drummed his fingers against his knee. "I see it now, in a way. Now, when I am old and crippled, I see many things that I refused to notice in my youth."

Erik nodded. "It is easy to see things when they have gone past." He paced to the grave and caressed the little monkey's head. "Mistakes that might have been avoided, words that should have been said. Once the chance is no longer there, what is right is clear."

"I loved Christine."

"I know."

"You never spoke on it."

"What was there to say?" the elder asked quietly. "Should I have ordered you away from her, challenged you to find someone else? It would only have made her unhappy, and that I could never do."

"Is that why even now we are more strangers than brothers?" Raoul wondered.

He shrugged. "I have felt no enmity toward you for many a year. It was your own inability to return home and face the truth that continued to hold us apart."

"I am home now."

"Yes, but soon I shall have gone as well. You might call yourself old, but you should recall that I am far more so. Charlotte has already inherited the title, and my children no longer need their father."

"Are you ill?" Raoul demanded.

"No. I am merely old. I lingered these two years because there were things that remained unresolved, but my heart died with Christine. I am ready to join her."

"How long do you think it will be?"

"Tonight." Erik smiled fleetingly at the shock on his brother's face. "I understand my own strengths and weaknesses. More, I can feel her spirit. She is waiting."

"And your unresolved business?" he pressed.

"Is now resolved. What needed to be said between us has been. There is no reason left to remain."

Raoul shook his head. "I find it difficult to believe that you will die. You have always seemed timeless."

It was true enough. Like Madame Giry, he wore his age well. Save for his hair turning white and the few lines in his skin, he might well have still been in his thirties, might still have been the man he was when he met his brother. His strength and health had not much diminished.

"I am tired. I have lived through a great deal, experiences that make me feel even older than my years. I do not wish to continue."

"If you say so," Raoul said doubtfully.

"It is cold, and your health is poor. You should go to the estate. I will be there shortly."

The younger man looked about. "How did you get here?"

"My horse is nearby. I do not care for these automobiles that are growing so popular. Go. I want to stay a while longer."

Raoul's nurse assisted him into the car, and they drove off. Erik's gaze returned to his wife's grave. Uncaring of his suit, he sat before it and caressed the stone portrait of her.

"I will join you shortly, Angel. I have resolved things with the Vicomte, as you wished, and the children understand that I am ready." He sighed. "These two years have been so hard. I do not know how to live in this world without you. Those fool women that thought I would wish to wed again, the demands of my work… I have no interest in anything. All I want is to be with you again."

He got to his feet and returned to his horse. He spared one last, lingering look at Christine's image and mounted, riding to the de Chagny estate.

88888888

Charlotte was the only one of his children that had remained at the estate. Her own daughter, Soleil, was a little golden girl that leapt into her grandfather's arms.

"_Grand__-père_, Uncle Raoul is here!" she chirped.

Erik gently tousled her golden curls. "Yes, I know. I saw him when I visited _Grand__-maman_. May I talk to your mother, my little angel?"

She nodded and slipped down, running to join her siblings. Charlotte looked at her father in concern. "This is it. You are ready to move on."

Erik smiled tiredly. "Yes, I think so. Today is the last for me. I have been without your mother for long enough."

"You could hold on," Lotte began. "Soleil, Richard and Spencer want to have that time with you."

"Your children will all remember me, brief though our time was. I have waited as long as I might, Charlotte. I do not have the strength now." He looked after Soleil. "Your mother's spirit and mine will live on in each of you. Soleil is so very like her."

"I know. You have said as much from the moment she was born."

"Would you do something for me, Lotte?" he asked.

"Of course," she replied, concerned.

"When they are old enough, tell them our story. I want them to know your mother as I knew her best."

"And what about you?" Lotte pressed. "Your story does not look good for you."

"Then teach them that people cannot always do what is right, and the importance of knowing when to let go. Charlotte, please, can you do this?"

She nodded as her husband joined them. He was a stern, quiet man, but Erik knew that he would care for his daughter. Erik bowed his head slightly before walking to his bedchamber.

Grant Chevalier stroked his wife's hair. "You are distressed."

"I imagine I am," she answered shakily. "Grant, my father intends to die tonight."

He sighed, unsurprised. "This cannot be a shock. You know that he has had little interest in wife since your mother died."

"No, no, it's not, but Grant, he is my father. You did not know him when I was young. He was indomitable, unstoppable. These two years… he has been a different person."

"He lost the woman that mattered the most to him," Grant said softly. "It changes a person."

"But his children- his grandchildren-"

"Charlotte. He knows that you and your brothers and sisters do not need him. His grandchildren will remember him as well. He has given up his opera house, his title. What is left to hold him here?"

"He asked me to tell the children the story of him and _Maman_ when they are old enough."

"Then tell them. They will understand what he wished them to know."

She turned against his chest. "I cannot believe he could die. He survived so much, but it is grief that will kill him? It does not seem right."

"Your father has been preparing for this day since Lady Christine died. You know that."

"Uncle Raoul is here."

"Soleil told me." He looked to the room where their children hurried to find their newest creations to show him. "I think that is why Lord Erik is ready to move on. He and his brother have finally made amends."

"Do you think he knows?" Charlotte asked.

"I imagine he does."

Soleil hurried to her parents. "_Maman_, where is_ Grand__-père_? I wanted to show him the picture I drew!"

"_Grand__-père_went to bed, Soleil."

Grant knelt in front of their six year old daughter. "_Grand__-père_ is going to the angels, Soleil. He is going back to _Grand__-maman_."

Soleil frowned, not understanding. "He is going back to the cemetery?"

Charlotte shook her head. "We should go to your brothers, Soleil. _Grand__-père_ is tired."

88888888

Erik leaned against the door for a moment. In recent days he had become weary with most any exertion, increasing his belief that he would soon be rejoining Christine. He had heard Soleil's innocent question and sighed, but he knew her parents would explain. They would grieve, but they would heal. He could not heal from what ailed him. He suspected as well that Madame Giry would not be long behind. Without Christine and Meg, he had been all that was left, and once he was gone she would be alone.

Christine haunted him. Her voice, her face, her scent, everything she was tantalized him though she was not there. He grew weary of reaching for her only to have the image vanish. It was time to join her in truth.

He slowly set his boots aside and shrugged off his cloak. His suit jacket and vest soon followed, and he loosened his shirt. Doing so exposed the long scar Moreau had given him, but he hardly cared. Moreau was long dead. He walked to his wardrobe and reached into the very back. Opening a concealed panel, he removed a simple white leather half mask, now slightly yellowed with age.

"This is it," he said quietly. "This is the end."

He tossed the mask to the bed before locating a simple set of black pajamas and a black robe. Even Christine's influence over the long years had not altered that preference. Once changed, he settled against the pillows and closed his eyes.

He could feel Christine around him. More, he heard her.

'Your time is done, Erik. You do not have to linger any longer.'

Opening his eyes, he saw her. She was gowned in white and wore a beatific smile. Her hand was extended to him.

'Come to me, Angel of Music.'

He took her hand, and in that moment he was as he had been fifty years before, the absence of a mask the only difference. She looked to be the tender sixteen year old girl that had come with him to his home that first time. The first genuine smile since she had died touched his features.

88888888

Two hours after her conversation with her father, Charlotte slipped into his room. Erik lay unmoving upon the bed, seeming asleep but for the lack of breath. A smile told her that he had gotten his wish.

She sank to her knees and pressed her hands to her mouth to muffle her sobs. "Papa…" she whispered.

Grant came up behind her and turned her against him. She cried into his chest. He swallowed painfully as he looked at the still form of a man he had considered a second father.

"This is better," he assured his distraught wife. "He is free to be with Lady Christine again."

"Papa…" she sobbed. "Papa, Papa…"

Spencer, the eldest of their children, stepped in when he heard his mother's crying. "Father…?"

He allowed his son to step into the embrace as well, and his grip tightened when he felt the tension that indicated that the ten year old understood what had happened.

"_Grand__-père_…?" the boy asked with a hint of a sob in his tone.

"Your grandfather is dead," he confirmed, and he supported Spencer as he began to cry as well.

Charlotte wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, though it had little effect when the tears continued to flow. "We have to tell Richard and Soleil."

"We will," Grant promised.

"And Uncle Raoul… he and Papa just made amends…"

"I already know," Raoul said from the entry. "Erik told me while we were in the cemetery that it would be tonight." He was leaning heavily on a cane, but he seemed well enough. "He had no reason left to stay."

She hurried to her elderly uncle. "Are you well? You should be in bed. You might become ill."

"I am fine, Little Lotte. I had to see my brother for myself."

"He's really gone," she whispered. "I never thought… I was so sure he would be here forever."

"We all were, but this is for the best."

"Good-bye, Papa," Charlotte said. "Be happy."

She turned to her family as her father joined her mother in eternity.

88888888

AN: And that's that. It's hard to believe that after ten months I've finally finished this story. It's strange, in a way, because this one piece has been such a big deal to me since I started it. Guys, I know I've asked before, but really, review. I put a lot of time and effort into this, and more, heart. I want to know what you think. Even if it's to say you think it's awful and list twenty reasons why it's bad, I want to hear it, because it means you've read it. It means you've cared enough to read it, long though it is, even through the number of times I took a long time to update. So please, review. This is the end of "Songbird", but hopefully I'll see you again in my next phanfic. Bye!


End file.
